


Too Wise to Woo

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Crack, Dirty Talk, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes, References to Shakespeare, Romance, Teacher Dean Winchester, There's even a gay water balloon fight, Top Dean, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-07 14:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1902876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Which is exactly what Cas needs in his life: yet another hyper-privileged, heterosexual white male to remind him of all of his futile, unending struggles, including, but not limited to being unable to find a date; not having time to go on said date should he find one; falling in love with straight men who enjoy gay male attention, such as the bastard Balthazar; and – as Cas diverts his attention from his abysmal dissertation to look at Dean Winchester for the very first time – being the most awkward human being on the planet."</p><p>***</p><p>Doctoral candidate Castiel Milton is strung tight with stress upon attempting to complete and defend his dissertation at Stanford University. When his roommate, Sam, invites his brother, Dr. Dean Winchester, appallingly handsome mechanical engineering professor, to stay with them, Cas finds that they can't stand each other.</p><p>Enter undergraduate students and mischief-making BFFs, Charlie Bradbury and Alex Carter, who think Professor Milton and Dr. Winchester would get along <i>splendidly</i>, and make it their project to ensure this ship sails by the end of the semester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eveanyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eveanyn/gifts).



When the doorbell rings, Castiel Milton cringes at the noise, tugging at his hair in which his fingers are already threaded, his body slumped over his large oak desk, scanning over the scrawled, red-ink notes of his dissertation.

They're everywhere.

Obtaining a doctorate is a hopeless endeavor, and Castiel wishes he had taken his brother's advice and become a fiction writer instead, traveling the world with nothing but a backpack and a laptop to his name.

The doorbell rings again.

 _"Sam!"_ Cas shouts up the staircase of their shared home, a mile away from Stanford University, where he attempts vainly to defend his thesis, and his roommate Sam is in the final throes of his law degree.

Heavy footsteps clamber down the stairs, and the front door swings open.

"Sammy!" Cas hears an unfamiliar voice say.

Sam replies, "Dean! You're here early!"

It occurs to Castiel that Sam did mention something recently about his brother staying with them for a couple weeks, but the conversation is fuzzy, and Cas can't remember any of the details.

At the time, he was likely half-asleep, slouched over a large pile of ancient religious texts.

Unlike what everyone seems to think of him, Castiel is not "absent-minded." He is, in fact, full of mind.

Rarely is his concentration externalized, however.

Dean says, "You know, end of summer, not much going on. Thought I'd stop by early, hang out for a few days before the school year starts."

"Yeah, yeah, that's great!" Sam exclaims. "Hey, let me introduce you to my roommate, Castiel."

Cas hears footsteps approaching him as they walk through the living room and into the dining-room-turned-mutual-office.

Again, Castiel remembers Sam mentioning his brother on occasion over the last year and a half they've lived together, and again, his memory is fuzzy. Cas remembers something about Dean being a wild teenager on the wrong path, getting into trouble with the law, driving some kind of antique muscle car to flaunt his matching antique notion of masculinity.

Which is exactly what Cas needs in his life: yet another hyper-privileged, heterosexual white male to remind him of all of his futile, unending struggles in life, including, but not limited to being unable to find a date; not having time to go on said date should he find one; falling in love with straight men who enjoy gay male attention, such as the bastard Balthazar; and – as Cas diverts his attention from his abysmal dissertation to look at Dean Winchester for the very first time – being the most awkward human being on the planet.

Castiel, being mostly unaccustomed to the concept of _tact_ , openly gapes at Dean upon first glace, who, at over six feet tall, gazes down with a sly smile at Cas. He's clad in an old leather jacket, a flannel over-shirt, and a black t-shirt, which leads Castiel to believe that he is somehow unaware that California is _hot_ in late August.

Dean stretches out his hand, crooked grin intact. "The infamous almost-doctor, Castiel Milton. I've heard a lot about you."

Cas swallows and takes Dean's hand in his, giving it a firm shake and worrying if his palms are noticeably sweating. "And I you."

When Dean retracts his hand, Sam slaps him on the back. "I know you just got here, but I was actually about to head out to do an orientation for incoming freshmen. Make yourself at home. The couch is all yours for as long as you need it. There's food and beer in the fridge and the wifi password is 'assbutt,' one word."

"Assbutt?" Dean asks.

"It's a long story. I'll be back in a few hours." He pulls Dean in for a quick hug. "It's great seeing you again. We'll get caught up soon." Looking to Cas, concern etched on his face, Sam adds, "Cas, just... be... uhh, cool. Please."

Castiel narrows his eyes at Sam.

Sam takes a deep breath, claps Dean on the shoulder again, and leaves the house.

A painfully awkward silence befalls them.

Apparently, Dean doesn't notice, because he tosses his duffel bag to the floor and hops up on the one corner of Cas's desk that isn't covered in paperwork, looking around the old room. "You own this place?"

"Yes," Cas replies, turning back to his work, because as enthralling as Dean's appearance may be, Castiel has a lot to get done before the school year starts, and he'll be forced to focus more on the undergraduate history classes he teaches than his own work.

"Aren't you, you know, a little young to own property?"

"No."

Castiel combs his fingers through his hair and tries to make out a tiny red squiggle on page thirty-six of his dissertation.

Dean kicks the drawers of the desk with the heels of his boots. There's a piece of gum in his mouth that he snaps while he chews, mouth open.

"Whatcha working on?" Dean asks, contorting his body so that he's looking over Cas's shoulder.

Dean, although pretty, has already hit three of Cas's pet peeves in a matter of moments: talking while Cas is obviously focused on work, chewing with his mouth open, and making completely unnecessary noise.

"Dissertation," Cas mumbles.

"About what?"

Cas spins in his chair, looking up at Dean, willing himself to lower his level of irritation, and attempting to convince himself he's being irrational. "I apologize, Dean. It's very nice meeting you, but I have work I need to focus on, so, as Sam mentioned, please feel free to make yourself at home."

Dean shrugs, blowing a bubble with his gum, and Cas tries not to stare at the man's admittedly gorgeous mouth.

"That's all you had to say." Dean hops off the desk and adds, "Sorry for bothering you." Hands in his pockets, he moseys into the kitchen, adjacent to the living room, and opens the refrigerator.

Cas watches him for a moment, the soft yellow glow from the light of the refrigerator accentuating his profile and his handsome, sharp features.

Tearing his eyes away, Cas spins back in his chair and squints his eyes to make out the tiny, red note.

After a moment, Dean calls out, “Hey Cas, you got any burger fixins?”

Cas drops his face onto his paperwork and groans.

It’s going to be a _long_ couple of weeks.

***

The next day, Cas hasn’t even finished his coffee or made it through the morning’s _San Francisco Chronicle_ when Dean drags out the vacuum and runs it over the carpeting in the living room.

Cas cringes at the noise and shouts, _“Dean!”_

Dean can’t hear him over the vacuum or the large headphones over his ears.

Castiel folds his paper and sets it on his desk, then stomps over to Dean and taps him on the shoulder.

His _bare_ shoulder, as Cas just notices, because Dean is apparently cleaning his house in nothing but pajama pants and… that’s all.

Cas sweeps his gaze over the tan, muscular back in front of him and down to the truly _sinful_ way Dean’s pajama pants drape over his perfect ass.

When Dean switches off the vacuum, turns around, and lowers his headphones, Cas darts his eyes back to Dean’s face.

“Why are you cleaning my house?” Cas asks, irritation covering up the low huskiness in his voice from having woken up so recently and _not_ from the arousal that now churns in his stomach after staring at Dean’s amazing body.

Dean grins at him. “Good morning to you too.”

“It would be a good morning if I had silence.”

Dean’s smile drops, and he shrugs. “Just thought I would earn my keep is all.”

Cas runs his hand over his face. “That’s unnecessary. Please consider yourself a guest in my home. And moreover, please refrain from making excessive noise.” He pads back over to his desk, sits down, and picks up his paper.

Squatting down, Dean unplugs the vacuum and wraps the chord around the hooks on the back of it. “So who shoved a rod up your ass?”

Without looking up from his paper, Cas replies, “It has regretfully been several months since anyone has shoved anything up my ass, and I would thank you not to ask about it.”

Cas hears a crashing sound, and looks up from his paper to see the vacuum cleaner on its side and a scarlet blush on Dean’s cheeks as he clears his throat and bends over to pick the vacuum up.

Looking back down at his paper, Castiel smirks.

***

That afternoon, Castiel is editing the syllabi for his classes when he notices in his peripheral vision that all of the dirty dishes on his desk are gone.

Although a kind gesture, Cas is irritated that Dean touched anything on his desk, because everything is so precariously placed that it’s like a game of Jenga to disturb the careful ecosystem of his dirty dishware.

His concentration is interrupted when Dean sets down a plate of food by his elbow.

Cas looks up from his computer to stare at Dean, who is in turn smirking down at him.

“You haven’t eaten anything all day,” he tells Cas.

“I had coffee,” Cas replies.

“Coffee ain’t gonna cut it. Here, have a burger.” He pushes the plate closer to Cas.

Castiel leans back in his chair, and takes a deep breath. “First, please don't touch anything on my desk—“

“Dude, this desk was a fucking biohazard. I should have called the CDC.”

“Second,” Cas continues, ignoring him. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I’m a vegetarian.”

For a moment, Dean’s expression falters, and his lips twitch down. Then he immediately perks back up into his flippant self and, smiling, picks the plate back up. “Good. More for me.”

***

The next day, Sunday, finds Castiel down to the wire in terms of getting himself prepared to teach his classes. He has a to-do list a mile long and not enough time to do it before he has to stand in front of hundreds of students and pretend he knows what he’s talking about.

He _does_ know what he’s talking about in terms of history, however, he does _not_ know how to present it in an organized fashion such that it is easily learned.

Cas has never been one for talking, nor for teaching, but it’s the hand he’s been dealt in order to make it through his doctoral program, so he spends an excessive amount of time attempting to fix is weaknesses as an instructor.

Abruptly, loud music reverberates through the entire house, and Cas jumps out of his own skin.

Cas spins his chair around to find the source of the appallingly loud music.

[ _Just take those old records off the shelf…_ ](http://youtu.be/G2UVsyVLLcE)

Dean comes sliding across the hardwood floor of the dining room, mere feet in front of Castiel, clad only in socks, underwear, and a half-buttoned button-up shirt. He holds a candlestick up to his mouth as he lip-synchs the words and dances to the music.

Castiel is amused for a fraction of a second before realizing that the candlestick is a family heirloom, Cas _still_ has a mountain of work to complete, and Dean is so far out of Cas's league, he might as well be on the Hubble telescope.

“What are you doing, Dean?” Cas asks.

“Having fun,” Dean says, still dancing and sliding around the floor. “What are _you_ doing?”

“Presently, I am attempting to stifle my immense irritation.”

Dean stops dancing and frowns. “C’mon, Cas. Everybody’s gotta have _some_ fun. Even stodgy, stressed-out grad students.”

“I’m not everybody,” Cas replies. “And there is no time for fun when classes begin tomorrow.”

Dean reaches out and grabs Cas’s arm, which is absolutely the last straw. Cas does _not_ like being touched.

Cas yanks his arm away and shouts, _“SAM!”_

Sam pops his head out of the kitchen. “What?” He looks at Dean, points, and says, “Hey,  _Risky Business_!”

Dean and Sam air-high-five each other from across the room.

Cas rolls his eyes, and tells Sam, “Sam, although I am not opposed to you bringing guests into my house, I beg you to please keep your Neanderthal of a brother on a leash for the duration of his stay. He has interrupted my work on several occasions, and I cannot afford to be distracted—“

“You know what?” Dean interrupts, and Cas turns his attention to him. Dean's face is red and his smile has been replaced with a scowl. “Sam, thanks for offering to let me stay, but your dickbag of a roommate wouldn’t know how to have a good time if his life depended on it, so I’m gonna get a hotel room. We’ll hang out whenever you’re free.” He shoves the candlestick into Cas’s hand and adds, “It was good meeting you, Cas. No, that’s a lie, it sucked meeting you. I’m outta here.”

***

Of course, Cas oversleeps the next day and rushes to school to make it on time for his first class. In his arms, he cradles hundreds of copies of syllabi shoved haphazardly into file folders which he didn’t take the time to label.

He gets in the elevator and checks his watch.

He’s already five minutes late for his _Great Books: The Bible_ class, and when the elevator doors open on the fourth floor, he barrels out of them. A sign on the wall across from him grabs his attention.

It reads:

_Welcome New Faculty!_

_Fergus Crowley, MBA, Business_

_Ellen Harvelle, PhD, Women’s Studies_

_Dean Winchester, PhD, Mechanical Engineering_

He stares open-mouthed at the sign for a moment, before remembering he needs to book it to class, so he turns away…

And runs face-first into the stone-like chest of another man, dropping his folders to the ground, papers flying.

He immediately squats down to pick them up, and the man does too, shuffling papers back into various folders.

Cas sweeps his gaze up the man’s form. He’s wearing a tailored, navy blue suit; a light-blue, pinstriped shirt; red suspenders; and a red tie.

A pair of glasses is perched atop his nose and behind them, Cas sees a familiar set of green eyes.

Dean looks at him, sweeping up the papers, unsmiling. “Hey, Cas.”

Before Cas knows what he’s saying, he asks, incredulous, “ _You_ have a doctorate? In _engineering?_ ”

Dean huffs a laugh, mirthless, and shoves the pile of papers into Cas’s chest. He stands, Cas taking the bundle and standing also. With a faux-bewildered expression, brows furrowed, Dean replies, “Yeah, why? Is it difficult or something?”

Cas scowls at him.

“Anyway, watch where you’re walking. I’ll see you around, Cas.” Dean picks up his black leather briefcase from the floor and walks away.

Cas stares after him, dumbfounded, and utterly fails at keeping himself from looking at Dean’s ass one last time before cursing himself and running to class.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always makes me super happy when you guys really dig the first chapter of a fic. 
> 
> s/o to my ex-slash-BFF, who makes me proud every day for his accomplishments in college against all the odds stacked against him. I should probably also tell him I kind of stole his life story for the background of this fic. Hmm...
> 
> As always, feedback is appreciated!

The benefit of living in California, Dean thinks, is that he can wake up at six o’clock in the morning every damn day of the year and go for a run. It clears his mind, helps him focus on the day ahead. Dean discovers solace in routine after a lifetime of living in chaos.

Today, however, Dean finds unpleasant thoughts tugging at the edges of his brain that he cannot dispel with formulas and equations and daydreaming through detailed scenes of gratuitous mental porn.

Dean Winchester has never been one to dwell on pesky things like _emotions._ Especially ones in conflict.

Whenever he thinks about Castiel Milton, however, he feels like punching his fist through a wall. His blood boils. The dude is a total fucking douchebag, and it’s only made worse by the fact that Dean has a crush on him the size of Texas.

Over the past two months, Dean has adjusted well to his new position at Stanford. He found a nice apartment, his students like him, and the tiny thrill he gets at being referred to as _Dr. Winchester_ will never get old. Against all odds, he took the shitty life he’d been dealt and he made something great out of it.

When he’s in front of a classroom teaching, no one watching him knows he used to hustle pool in dive bars across the US for money to feed Sam. No one knows about his father’s rampant alcoholism. No one knows that he’s been arrested five times in his life and managed to get out of any kind of real trouble with only his wit and charm at his disposal.

Most of all, no one knows that he worked three jobs to get through his undergrad, which he decided on because that’s what Sam decided on, and he would follow his baby brother straight to hell if it meant Sam could succeed in life in a way that Dean never expected to.

When Dean and Sam managed to get away from their toxic, overbearing, alcoholic father, it was like a switch flipped in Dean’s mind. He was no longer the poor, depraved bad boy who was about to haul his ass through a life of crime and the constant struggle to make ends meet. After twenty-two years, he finally figured out that he was not his father. When Dean got his GED and set foot in that first college-level engineering class, he was fucking terrified. He wasn’t as smart as the kids around him, four years younger than him and who’d had their lives handed to them on a silver fucking platter. Dean wanted to quit right off the bat, but Sam threatened to quit if Dean quit, and, as it turned out, Dean _was_ smarter than most of his peers and had more work ethic. His professors started noticing him and he won scholarships he never applied for, received awards for his innovative work, and was downright invited into the grad program at his _alma mater_ to continue on to get his doctorate.

Sam took a few years off of school to work when he finished his undergrad so that Dean could quit a couple of his side jobs. Dean fought him on it, but as always, Sam won that battle and did some paralegal work before applying to Stanford.

Dean was half-heartbroken but completely proud of his little brother for making it to Stanford, but he still had more than a year before he’d get his doctorate, and that year apart was just torture for Dean, who had never been without his brother for more than a week since Sam was born.

It was nothing short of divine intervention that right before Dean successfully defended his thesis, Stanford University offered him a job out of the blue as a professor, tenure track and all, and Dean hopped on a plane as soon as he could to go be with his brother.

What he was not expecting, however, was a blue-eyed, messy-haired bag of dicks to rain on his seemingly unending parade of success after decades of failure, the manifestation of the reminder that Dean isn’t as great as the evidence his academic track record supports; that maybe Dean really is kind of a Neanderthal who needs to be leashed, some dumb kid who’s good with numbers and knows how to smile his way out of trouble.

Castiel Milton is the monster Dean ignores when he looks at himself in the mirror.

Dean likes Cas, though. _A lot._

But he also really fucking hates the guy, too.

As Dean pounds the pavement underneath him, he reminds himself to stop dwelling on emotions. Especially ones in conflict. Especially ones involving Castiel fucking Milton, jackass extraordinare who wouldn’t know or understand a kind deed if it bit him in the ass, and doesn’t appreciate how hard Dean has worked for everything he has, yet obviously is as hard-working as Dean and probably infinitely more brilliant, and beautiful, and quick-witted, and the way his voice sounds early in the morning is just…

Dean turns up the harsh, fast sounds of _Back in Black_ , hits the pavement harder, and runs as fast as he can, away from his emotions, away from his past, away from the stupidly beautiful eyes of Castiel Milton.

***

That evening, Dean chaperones the campus’s annual LGBT Halloween party.

Within the first hour, someone manages to spike the punch. Instead of putting a stop to the party, Dean sighs and keeps an eye out for students attempting to drive home drunk, because he knows what worse dangers are out there for them, having lived them all himself already.

Luckily, there are only a few dozen students at the party, so Dean parks himself by the front door and plays games on his cell phone.

Dean opted to borrow Sam’s Guy Fawkes mask and put the hood of his black hoodie over his head because he honestly forgot about the party until two hours before he had to get there.

He thought that becoming an advisor for the LGBT Alliance meant rallying students toward a good cause.

He had no idea it would involve things like _activities_ , because he didn’t have time to join any clubs in his undergrad, and he didn’t realize how little he actually knew about how they worked. Regardless, he’s happy to have something productive to do when he would normally be sitting at home watching TV and drinking beer.

Admittedly, he misses the beer.

A body plunks down on the seat next to him.

“The hell are you doing here, Sam?” Cas slurs. “Thought you had boring law stuff to do tonight.”

“I’m not—” Dean starts, then thinks better of it.

Cas wobbles on the chair, eyes narrowed and glazed-over.

“—too busy right now. The semester just started.” Dean is going to hell for playing along with this. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Cas wrinkles his nose and Dean convinces himself it’s not adorable. “Pfft, I already _told_ you, Sam, I’m still a student. I can do student things sometimes. You know… if I want. And I do. Want. Things… sometimes. You know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean smiles under his mask and stifles a laugh.

Cas is wearing a rumpled blue suit and a tan trench coat. His tie is backwards and his hair is somehow messier than normal.

“What are you supposed to be?” Dean prods.

Cas scoffs and does a melodramatic eye roll. “Jesus fucking Christ, Sam, do you ever listen to me when I talk? I mean, I know I’m in and out of listening to _you_ talk a lot, but you talk _a lot_ and I’m, you know… me.”

“No, no, I do. I just… uhh… forgot. Tell me again.”

Cas closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. “There’s this show. On TV. I don’t watch it but all my students tell me I look just like this character named _Misha_ or something ridiculous like that. I don’t know. I just Googled it and went to a thrift store to buy a trench coat. Everyone’s going nuts over it.” He waves his hand in the air and slumps back on the chair, staring at Dean with a curious expression.

Dean worries that Cas is close to figuring it out that it’s actually Dean under the mask and not Sam, but then Cas says, “So what the fuck is up with your older brother?”

Dean’s heart speeds up. “What do you mean?”

“Like…” Cas squeezes his eyes shut again. “I dunno, I just get this vibe from him that he’s a flighty jerk and probably made it through college by blowing all his professors. There’s no way that guy has a PhD. _I_ don’t even have a PhD yet.”

Dean pointedly ignores the pang in his heart, and wishes he could leave. “That’s my brother, dude, don’t talk about him like that. He’s been through a lot.”

“Bullshit,” Cas says. “No one that pretty has had a hard life. I bet he just gets everything fucking handed to him because he’s a fucking supermodel.”

Dean is torn between being complimented on his appearance and insulted by Cas’s perception of him, so he guides the conversation to the former. “So you have the hots for him is what you’re saying.”

Cas scoffs again. “Uhh, _no,_ I like _serious_ men, Sam. Not pretty boys who eat enough red meat that they’ll get cardiac arrest by the time they’re forty and who don’t appreciate the concept of silence. Fuck your brother, Sam. I mean, not really, ‘cause that would be weird, but keep him and his dumb doctorate in fellatio away from me.”

Dean stares at his hands out the eye holes of his mask, frowning and not knowing what to say.

Quietly, Cas adds, “He’s probably not even gay anyway.” Looking at Dean with his eyebrows raised, he asks, “Is he gay?”

Dean isn’t going to give Cas the satisfaction of the complete truth, that Dean has and always will happily fuck anything that moves, so he replies, “No, he’s not gay.” Then he stands, because he refuses to waste another second sitting next to this jerkwad of a human being with a robotic heart, and adds, “I’ll see you at home, Cas.”

***

Castiel stares at Sam’s back as he walks away slowly, shoulders slumped. He wonders why Sam would give a shit about what Cas thinks of his stupid brother anyway.

Cas’s eyes flit down to Sam’s ass, and it takes him a good five seconds to focus his vision on it and realize, horrified, that the plump, round ass atop the beautiful pair of bow legs walking away from him is definitely _not_ the scrawny ass and long, gangly legs of his roommate.

Cas _knows_ that ass and those legs. Just two months ago, they were sliding into his dining room in stocking feet trying to cheer Cas up when he was beside himself with stress.

That ass belongs to Dean Winchester.

Dean Winchester, _Dr. Dean Winchester_ , sat here listening to Cas as he drunkenly ranted about how hot and terrible he thinks Dean is.

Dean heard all of that.

_Fuck._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C'mon, you guys should know by now that I don't do Mary Sues.
> 
> PS Heads up that there are gonna be some sudden POV changes indicated by *** between paragraphs.

Two weeks after the Halloween party, Dean has an hour to kill before his next class, so he walks around campus because he still hasn’t seen everything there is to see.

He has continued successfully avoiding Castiel Milton, and thankfully, Sam is more than willing to hang out at Dean’s apartment. Life is grand for the most part, aside from the day-to-day stresses of launching his career and adjusting to a new environment. He has his brother, he has a good job, and he’s doing what he loves.

And only very rarely does he find himself in the dark of night, touching himself while thinking of the brilliant mind behind the impossible blue eyes and perfect pink lips of his brother’s petulant, incorrigible roommate.

Movement in Dean’s peripheral vision captures his attention as he walks down a hallway he’s never been in, and he sees a familiar head of unkempt, dark hair rush into an office and shut the door behind him.

Dean passes the room that Cas just entered, then backpedals until he’s in front of it again, and hesitates there momentarily, lifting his fist slowly, hovering over the door. He has a devious plan formulating in his head, but the devil and angel on his shoulders are at war with each other about it.

Not entirely surprising, the devil on his shoulder sounds an awful lot like his twenty year-old self, while the angel sounds like his current, thirty year-old self.

 _Don’t do it, Dean,_ the proverbial angel tells him. _Leave the man alone. You’re better than this. Take the high road like a civilized human being._

The devil, however, reminds him, _He said you had a doctorate in fellatio. Do your worst. It’s been years since you’ve had any_ real _fun. Remember what real fun is like, Winchester? Fighting and fucking and doing what it takes to survive? An eye for an eye, man, that’s all I’m saying._

The corners of Dean’s lips twitch up in a Cheshire grin, and he raps on the door.

***

“Come in,” Cas calls, not looking up from his papers. “I’m sorry but office hours are–” He glances up briefly, then back down, and does a double-take, his words caught in his throat.

Dean Winchester stands across from Cas, enigmatic smile on his face as he closes the door behind him, and looks around the room with his hands stuffed in the pants pockets of his expensive, perfectly-tailored suit, bereft of its jacket and with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Nice office,” Dean says, spinning a globe standing in the corner. “You know, for a TA.”

Cas’s eyebrows, which were raised in curious astonishment, now fall as he narrows his eyes. “What do you want, Dean?”

“My office has a window,” Dean continues, ignoring him, walking past a bookshelf and peering at the books. He wipes a finger across a dusty shelf, then examines it, makes a face, and wipes the dust away, looking back up at Cas. “And much more than four square feet of walking space.” He chuckles, gazing across Cas’s teetering mount of paperwork, and adds, “You can actually see my desk under all the papers, too. But I’ll give it to you, at least this one doesn’t have yet-discovered lifeforms forming on discarded grilled cheese crusts.”

Cas leans back in his chair, shoving his pen behind his ear and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll reiterate. What do you want, Dean?”

Dean moseys over to the other side of Cas’s desk and hikes up his pant legs to take a seat on the edge of it. He stares down at Cas, green eyes blazing, a good foot inside Cas’s standard, excessively large bubble of personal space.

But Cas is too bewildered to care. His heart is fluttering, and he's trying to maintain the stony, disapproving expression he reserves for his students.

It has been said to Cas many times in his life that he has trouble understanding people, but there is no mistaking the look on Dean Winchester’s face as he gazes deeply into Cas’s eyes, smile playing on his lips as he replies, “Two reasons. First, I came to apologize. I think we got off on the wrong foot, and I’d like it if we got to know each other under different circumstances. Second…” He reaches up to caress the side of Cas’s face, gently, and leans down so that their lips are inches apart. Voice low and quiet, he continues, “I wanted to… get off on the right foot, and maybe go ahead and define those…” He huffs a laugh, deep in his throat as he smirks. “… _different circumstances_ I mentioned.” His eyes sweep down to Cas’s lips, parted in surprise, and he leans in further, lips hovering so close to Cas’s that if he moved just an inch, they would be pressed together. Finally, eyes flicking back up to search Cas’s face, Dean whispers, “May I?”

Going against all his higher mental faculties and anxiety about personal space, Castiel cannot for the life of him stop himself from giving Dean a slow, almost imperceptible nod, still dumbfounded at this unexpected turn of events.

Suddenly, Dean is on him, soft lips parting Cas’s, hand running up his jawline and into his hair, taking the pen out from behind his ear and tossing it on the desk.

Cas fists Dean’s suspenders in his hands and drags him closer, deeper, his tongue darting into Dean’s mouth and licking his tongue with his own, which earns him a satisfying, shocked gasp.

Dean, in turn, pulls Cas up from his chair and stands, pushing Cas against the wall behind them with a thud that knocks the wind out of Cas’s lungs momentarily, and presses their bodies together.

Dean is like a brick wall against Cas, sliding their hips against each other, making sure every inch of Cas’s body is touching every inch of Dean’s. He shifts his knee and nudges it between Cas’s legs while running his hands down Cas’s arms and grasping his wrists, bringing them together and then up over his head, pinning them tight against the wall above him.

He trails kisses across Cas’s jaw and down his neck, planting his lips and biting frantically at the muscled flesh where his neck and shoulder meet, and it’s everything Cas refused to admit he wanted until this moment, Dean sucking hickeys onto his neck in his office, pinning him helpless against a wall while Cas grinds with wanton abandon against Dean’s hip.

 _“Dean…”_ Cas groans.

“Say my name again, baby,” Dean commands, husky and ragged.

“Dean,” Cas pants, eyes squeezed shut as Dean puts his mouth on every inch of Cas he can reach.

Dean huffs a laugh, smiling against the skin of Cas's neck. “You know what I want to hear. Say it for me, sweetheart.”

Cas swallows, adam’s apple bobbing, and Dean chases after it, licking up Cas’s throat so that he gasps out, _“Dr. Winchester…”_ in a high-pitched whine.

Dean chuckles, low and filthy, and asks, “Is this what you want, Cas? You want me to hold you down, and tell you…” He lifts his lips to Cas’s ear and grazes it gently with his lips, whispering, “…that you’ve been a bad, _bad_ student, and Dr. Winchester needs to teach you a lesson?”

Cas gasps, his brain no longer functioning correctly. All he wants is Dean’s hands all over him, his mouth all over him, his dick inside Cas’s ass and fucking into him until he can’t see straight. In reply, he whimpers a small, “Yes. Please.”

“Good,” Dean continues, and reaches down to unbutton Cas’s pants, grazing his fingers over the fabric covering Cas’s cock. “Do you want me to touch you, baby? You wanna fuck my fist?” He slowly zips down the fly of Cas’s pants.

Cas nods, beyond words, Dean’s deep, sultry voice and strong body against his own becoming his entire world, enveloping his mind in blissful silence but for an undulating chant of _want_  while Dean sets Cas's body alight with lust.

“You’re so beautiful, Cas,” Dean growls as he reaches into Cas’s pants and trails his fingers up the length of his dick, teasing and slow.

Cas’s breath catches in his throat.

“Beautiful cock, Cas, hard and wet just for me. Just for my fist.” Dean nuzzles his face in Cas’s neck and mutters, “Gonna make this so good for you, baby. You’re not gonna be able to hold yourself up when I’m done with you.”

He pumps Cas’s dick, slick and rock hard into his fist, stroking long and loose and slow, unraveling Cas piece by piece, palm filthy, covered with cum as Cas stutters his hips into Dean’s hand.

Cas chases Dean’s lips and meets them with his own, straining against Dean’s grip holding his arms in place above his head.

Smile spreading over his face, Dean says between frantic kisses, “You want me so bad, Cas. It’s in the way you look at me, all angry and doe-eyed with that perfect mouth I just wanna put my dick in every time I see it. _Fuck,_ Cas, you’re so fucking sexy.”

Cas moans as Dean leans down and bites into his neck again, fisting his cock faster, heavy in his palm as it makes slick, hot, wet noises that match the volume of Cas’s heady panting into Dean’s hair, knees barely able to hold him up anymore, melting into Dean’s strong embrace.

“You close, baby?” Dean asks. “You ready to come for me, sweetheart? Fill up my fist and watch me lick it off my hand, kiss you after so you can taste yourself on my tongue? Is that what you want, Cas?”

 _“Dean…”_ Cas moans out, broken voice barely above a rasp.

“Nuh uh,” Dean mumbles into Cas’s neck. “You know the rules, baby. You gotta tell me what I wanna hear. Gotta be a good student for me, sweetheart.”

Cas keens when Dean bites down onto his throat, growling onto his skin, the reverberation of his voice sending shivers down Cas’s body that push him so close to the edge that he thinks he might die. _“Dr. Winchester…”_

“That’s right, babe. Say it again. I wanna hear you _pray_ for it. I wanna hear you _beg.”_

“Please, Dr. Winchester. _Please…”_

Dean abruptly stops and pulls his hand out of Cas’s pants, kisses Cas once more, chaste and condescending, and looks into his eyes for a split-second before stepping back and looking at his watch. “Sorry, man. Gotta get to class now. I know I got my doctorate in fellatio and all, but I thought you might be interested in seeing some of my undergraduate research first.”

He claps Cas on the shoulder and winks, shit-eating grin plastered on his face, lips swollen and red, hair on end and looking heart-wrenchingly debauched, before turning away and straightening his tie, whistling casually and slamming the door behind him.

Cas slides down the wall until he hits the floor, panting and utterly fucking _wrecked,_ shaking from tension and still so hard, he physically aches, but too confused and broken to do anything but thread his fingers through his hair and catch his breath.

Castiel gets it now.

Dean Winchester is the devil incarnate.

***

Charlie stares at Dr. Winchester as he leaves Professor Milton’s office, whistling and looking – to put it mildly – well-fucked. She shoves at the large bicep of her best friend, Alex. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

Alex looks up from his textbook, eyes trailing after Dr. Winchester as he strolls down the hallway with a spring in his step. “The passionate, forbidden love between two professors who probably just fucked in the office wherein I have my monthly advisor meeting with said recently-fucked professor?”

Charlie looks at him and smiles. “I love our gay hive minds.”

Alex narrows his eyes. “That said... girl, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Wiggling in her seat, Charlie grins and replies, “That we need to find out if these guys are already together and if they’re not, we have a new prOTP which we will ship to oblivion until it sails out onto the vast, gay ocean of our souls because we have nothing better to do with our lives than study and play homoerotic matchmaker?”

“PrOTP?” Alex asks.

“Professorly one true pairing.”

Alex nods. “Then hell-to-the-yes. These two handsome bitches gonna be in love and bending each other over desks _all_ around campus when we’re through with them.”

“And of course, we’ll need to set this all up as mischieviously as possible, right? I mean, it wouldn’t count otherwise.”

Alex _tsk_ s, and replies, “You know it, girl. As I always say, go big or go home.”

She nudges Alex with an elbow, eyebrows wiggling, and says, _“Some Cupid kills with arrows…”_

He rolls his eyes and scoffs. “You are such a nerd.”

She slaps his arm playfully. “Just say it!”

Sighing, Alex adds, _“…some with traps.”_

Charlie squeals, “Best senior project _ever,"_ as she holds up her hand, and Alex high-fives her. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so hard to write. I hope it doesn't suck.
> 
> That said, I was grinning like an idiot the entire time I was writing it.
> 
> Please have a sense of humor about my use of the word "faggot" in this chapter. I mean it in a postmodern, taking-it-back-so-that-it-can't-oppress-us kind of way.

A few days after the hilarious half-handjob, Dean is grading an abysmal set of exams and questioning all of his life choices when he hears a knock on his office door.

“Come in,” he calls, looking up from scrawling _27%_ on the top of poor Garth Fitzgerald’s test.

A young woman Dean faintly recognizes is beaming at him in the doorway. “Hey, Dr. Winchester. Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Dean replies, sitting back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose, then gestures to the chairs across from him. “Have a seat. What’s up?”

She sits down and says, “My name’s Charlie Bradbury. I’m in your System Dynamics class.”

There are only two female students in his System Dynamics class, and this nervous-looking redhead isn’t one of them. “You are?”

“Yeah, well, I mean… I don’t actually attend class. Ever. Sorry.”

Dean furrows his brow and shifts his attention to his laptop, maximizing his grade book window and searching for _Bradbury_. The same test Garth Fitzgerald got a 27% on, after attending every single one of Dean’s office hours, is the same test that Dean couldn’t weight because one student got a perfect score.

That student, apparently, is Charlie Bradbury.

Dean eyes her. “Let me guess. You’re not here because you need help with your homework.”

Charlie laughs so hard that she snorts. “God no. I mean, no offense. It’s a decently tough class I guess, so kudos on that.”

“What’s your major?” Dean asks, genuinely curious.

“I’m triple-majoring in mechanical engineering, computer science, and theater.”

Dean nods, eyebrows shooting into his hair. “Impressive. So what can I help you with?”

Charlie’s smile drops slightly, suddenly shy, and she asks, “You’re the faculty advisor for the LGBT Alliance, right?”

Dean continues questioning all of his life choices when he realizes that he doesn’t know if he’s ready for _these_ kinds of conversations. Regardless, he smiles, plastering an expression on his face that he hopes reads more _openness-and-acceptance_ and less _oh-god-_ I’m _-barely-out-of-the-closet-how-can-I-possibly-help-someone-else,_ and replies with a simple, “Sure am.”

Charlie smiles again. “Cool. Great. So… most of the theater kids are part of the LGBT Alliance, but for some reason, a lot of the history kids are part of FMLA–”

“FMLA?” Dean asks.

“The Feminist Majority Leadership Alliance.”

“Ah,” Dean nods.

“Anyway, I’m not big into FMLA because it’s full of snooty, pretentious – pardon my French – dickweasels with nothing better to do than gripe about their own white privilege. So there’s this… friendly fire, so to speak, going on between the LGBT and FMLA and I was wondering if we could…” Charlie pauses, looking up at Dean with the kind of puppy-dog stare Sam used to give him when he wanted another serving of ice cream, “…do something about it?”

Dean chews on the cap of his pen, immediately intrigued. “Like what?”

“Well, we’re having this, like, Indian Summer or whatever, and it’s hot as balls outside… I mean, more so than it usually is for November, so I was thinking…” She holds up her hands open-palmed, shoulders shrugged into her neck, “water balloon fight?”

The devil on Dean’s shoulder _loves_ the idea, but the angel on Dean’s shoulder forces him to stifle the manic grin that threatens to escape him, and he asks, “Isn’t that a little… I dunno, juvenile?”

 _Right, Winchester,_ the devil tells him. _Like you weren’t the dude who put saran wrap over Sam’s toilet seat not five years ago._

Charlie holds her hands up and shakes them. “No, no no, it totally isn’t. You have to meet the President of FMLA. He’s this stodgy history professor who never smiles and he always grumbles and he doesn’t look like he knows what the word _fun_ even means.”

One corner of Dean’s lip twitches up as he tries to hide his amusement. “Oh yeah? What’s his name?”

“Castiel Milton.” Charlie grins and leans forward a little. “Do you know him?”

Dean clears his throat and straightens the stack of exams on his desk. “Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell.”

There’s a moment of silence before Charlie asks, “So... is that a yes? About the balloon fight?”

Dean leans back in his chair and runs a hand over his face, considering his options.

 _'His options'_ are organizing the sudden flood of ideas in his head about the myriad of ways he can up the ante on this water balloon fight. “I’ll think about it and get back to you,” he concludes, casual.

Charlie grins and makes a little squealing noise in her throat. She picks up her bag and heads toward the door.

“But,” Dean continues, “you gotta come to class.”

“Ugh, _fine.”_ She rolls her eyes and turns to leave, then stops and turns back in the doorway. “But I have one more question.”

“Shoot.”

Charlie chews on her lower lip a moment, hesitating, before asking in earnest, “Are you seeing anybody?”

Dean’s eyes widen, “No… I mean, I’m not, but this… I mean, it’s not…”

Gasping, Charlie flails at Dean, “No no no no no, not for me. I don’t bat for your team. Or any team. I’m like, in a whole other sport. It’s uhh… I mean, no reason. Really.” She smirks and gives Dean the Vulcan salute before saying, “See you around, Dr. Winchester.”

***

Castiel’s dick twitches when he hears a knock on his office door, and he curses Dean Winchester for doing this to him, forcing him to attempt vainly to shove his fantasies, now mixed with concrete memories, out of his head so that he can concentrate on his work.

Dean manages to distract him even when he’s not in Cas’s life at all, and Cas hates him for that.

“Come in,” Cas grumbles.

An enormous black man with a dazzling smile enters his office and takes a seat. “Hey, hun.”

Cas looks up and smiles, setting his pen down. “Hello, Alex.” He shuffles around the piles of papers on his desk to look at his calendar. “Did I forget about our meeting?”

Alex laughs. “Nah, this is just a social visit.”

“Oh,” Cas replies. He’s not used to the concept of ‘social visits,’ so he falters in an attempt to figure out what to say. He realizes he does not often speak with people without having a specific intention for conversing with them.

Alex eyes him. “So how you doin’, girl?”

Cas tilts his head. “Please refrain from referring to me in the feminine.”

Smirking, Alex replies, “If you insist, sugar.”

“Please also refrain from referring to me as anything other than Professor Milton.”

Alex laughs again, slapping a knee. “Hun, I was walking the streets while you were still in diapers, and don’t you dare pretend you don’t _love it_ when people see underneath that frumpy old Sears outfit you got on and into the lively, rainbow-colored heart underneath it.”

Narrowing his eyes at the uncanny knowledge that he did, in fact, buy his clothes at Sears, and the implication that he’s gay, Cas asks, “Wait… how do you know—”

“Because I have eyes, doll, that’s how,” Alex replies with a wave of his hand. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you here?”

Alex grins, straight white teeth showing dimples the size of quarters on either side of his face. “You just cut right to the chase. I like that. So I’ll cut to the chase too.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on Cas’s desk. “The LGBT-crew-slash-melodramatic-drama-nerds have a new Queen who thinks he’s just _the shit_ , and us hot-as-hell-FMLA-historians wanna take him down a peg.”

When Cas furrows his brow, Alex clarifies, “Down _a_ peg, cutie, not _to_ peg. But I like the way you think.”

“That’s not–” Cas begins.

“Anyway,” Alex interrupts, “we have this idea to maybe… _douse_ his spirits a bit.”

Cas remembers back to the Halloween party and drunkenly running into Dean there, all the awful-yet-well-deserved things he said. His eyes widen and he sits back. “Wait, you’re not talking about–”

“You’re damn right I’m talking about the chiseled-jaw-broad-shouldered Secret Queen of the Gays himself, Dr. Dean Winchester.”

 _“No,”_ Cas says, astonished, though in retrospect it _does_ make sense. Like Cas always does when it comes to Dean Winchester, he breaks his no-shenanigans rule and tells Alex, “I don’t care what your idea is. You have my full support.”

Alex claps his hands once. “Oh, sweetie, you will not regret this. Meet us at the quad tomorrow at three. Wear swim trunks. I’ll round up the troops.” He stands, throwing his messenger bag over his shoulder, and asks, “Oh, by the way, you’re single, right?”

Castiel immediately blushes and looks away, stuttering, “Well, yes, but… I don’t think…” Alex _is_ an incredibly attractive man, but he’s one of Cas’s students–

“Oh, sugar,” Alex corrects, holding up a hand. “Not that I’m not flattered. The absent-minded professor look is _great_ on you, trust me, but I’m asking for… someone else.”

Cas tilts his head.

With a crooked grin, Alex turns in the doorway and winks at him. “See you tomorrow, hun.”

***

The next day, Dean paces back and forth in front of a dozen LGBT students wearing all manner of strange swim gear. One of them has floaties on his arms. Another is in a wetsuit, complete with flippers and a snorkel.

Across the quad, the FMLA members are lining up their large buckets of balloons.

Dean, whistle around his neck, ignores them – specifically Cas, who is dressed in a plain pair of black swim trunks and nothing else, and Dean is utterly fucking pissed to see that the son of a bitch is _built_ – and stares down his lineup. “Listen up, maggots!”

At the end of the line, a boy with a heavy lisp shouts, “I think you mean faggots!”

“Listen up! We’ve got the quad for sixty minutes. We have exactly two-hundred balloons. Your duty is to chuck as much of this ammo as you can at the enemy.” He stops, pointing to the FMLA members, and stands in the center of the line. “Aim true, soldiers,” he concludes, saluting them.

Dean lines up at the end of the row next to Charlie, and whispers, “You got the goods, right?”

From the corner of her eye, Charlie looks at Dean and nods, knowing grin spreading across her face.

Dean cracks his knuckles. “Excellent.”

***

Castiel regrets agreeing to this senseless fight. His time would be much better spent grading papers.

Though there is a tiny part of his mind that simply could not pass up the opportunity to pelt Dean Winchester with water balloons out of both rage and the secret desire to see him soaking wet.

Cas reaches down and picks up a water balloon from the large bucket, a dozen of his teammates doing the same, and stands back up to see Dean staring at him, grinning lasciviously with a whistle precariously perched between his lips, and winks.

Cas stifles the urge to squeeze the balloon until it pops.

There’s a stillness settled over the quad, two dozen students on the same side of the sociopolitical divide, but on opposite sides of a genderqueer water balloon fight, standing silent, ammo in hand and jaws collectively clenched in anticipation.

Dean blows the whistle.

Colorful balloons go flying across the field, loud popping and sloshing noises all around amid hysterical screams and laughter.

Reeling his arm back, Cas chucks the balloon in Dean’s direction, and it hits him square in the chest, bursting and splashing water all over him as he tries to turn away from the hit.

When Dean turns back, there’s a devious grin on his face, and he leans down to pick up a balloon and lob it back at Cas.

It hits Cas on the shoulder, water warm from the sun, and Cas squeezes his eyes shut against the collision.

A wave of an odd scent hits his nose when the tattered rubber remnants of the balloon fall off of him.

It smells… _fruity._

He looks down at himself, and sees that he’s covered in red dye.

Cas shoots a wrathful gaze at Dean, who is waiting patiently across the field for Cas’s reaction. Grabbing two balloons and running straight at him, Cas shouts, _“You put Kool-Aid in the water?!”_

Dean doubles over laughing, then stops the moment Cas crashes a balloon over his head. Covering himself, Dean rounds up a balloon in each fist and runs away from Cas, laughing and chucking a balloon behind him.

Cas dodges it, and it splashes onto the grass behind him.

Still running, they pass one of Cas’s team’s buckets and Cas swiftly reloads with two more balloons. “You are _the_ most…” he chucks one balloon at Dean’s back and it hits him, forcing Dean to thrust forward with the impact. _“…childish, immature, short-sighted, idiotic buffoon…”_ Cas realizes that they’re far away from the battlefield now, ducking between and around trees on the other side of the quad, completely alone.

With Cas momentarily distracted, Dean stops and turns around, throwing his last balloon in Cas's direction, and it hits Cas in the gut, blue dye coating his abs and legs.

Cas growls and lunges, knocking into Dean, sending both of them toppling over onto the grass. They grapple for a moment before Cas straddles Dean’s hips and holds his remaining balloon over him, hand in the center of Dean’s chest, pinning him down.

Breathless, Dean stares up at him, crooked smile playing on his lips.

Cas glances at Dean’s mouth, remembering when it was on his neck, biting him and kissing him and telling him sexy, filthy things that Castiel has never had the pleasure of hearing before in person.

Dean takes the opportunity to sit up and roll Cas on his back before he has time to react. He pins Cas’s arm with the balloon in it to the grass and smiles down at him.

Cas is panting, mind reeling with something to say or do to break the tension, but all he can do is stare into Dean’s beautiful green eyes, forever alight with mischief and chaos.

Dean is between Cas’s legs, and they’re both drenched, breathless, and Cas can feel Dean’s cock resting on his hip through his swim trunks.

Smile fading, finally catching his breath, Dean flicks his eyes down to Cas’s lips, and then he’s crushing their mouths together, letting go of Cas’s wrist and running his fingers through Cas’s wet hair.

Cas bites at Dean’s bottom lip, pulling it in and sucking, and Dean hitches his hips against Cas, deepening the kiss and moaning.

The kiss is deep and hard, frantic and perfect, lips slotted together and tongues crashing against each other.

Forcing his smile down, Cas lifts his arm, balloon still in hand, and smashes it against Dean’s head.

Dean breaks away from Cas and gasps, shrugging his shoulders up as water splashes over both of them.

Cas looks up at Dean, water droplets stuck in his long lashes, shocked expression turning into a heady smile down at Cas as the sun shines warm above them, drying their bodies quickly in the Indian Summer heat.

Dean leans down and presses their lips together again, but this time it’s slow and soft, languid in what Cas hopes are Dean’s true affections, because for the first time in years, Cas completely forgets that his dissertation even exists.

***

Cas tastes like the cherry and blue raspberry Kool-Aid that Dean put in the balloons, licking across Cas’s lower lip, not realizing until this moment how much he had enjoyed this, the feel of Cas writhing against him, panting and moaning. He’s so reactive, strung so tight, and Dean just loves pushing his buttons, figuring out what it is that will make Cas take down his stoic mask and forget about being all work and no play. It’s like taking apart a beautiful, intricate machine and figuring out how all the pieces work, putting it back together again so that it works even better than it did before.

He wants to take Cas apart and put him back together, again and again and again.

Dean trails kisses down Cas’s neck, grass pressing into his knees as he instinctively ruts against Cas’s hips. The skin of his throat tastes like Kool-Aid too, but mixed with sweat and warmth, sun shining and hot above them.

Cas reaches his hands up and threads his fingers in Dean’s hair, wrapping his legs around his waist and pulling him in closer, gasping onto his mouth when Dean presses their dicks together, hard and wet and sliding against the fabric of their swim trunks.

For the first time in years, Dean completely forgets about his never-ending burdens of responsibility and achievement, letting himself fall back into the easy, freewheeling nature of the youthful devil within him.

***

From twenty feet away, Alex and Charlie, bone dry, gaze at the sight of the LGBT Alliance’s faculty advisor thoroughly mouth-fucking the President of FMLA.

Alex holds out his hand in front of Charlie, “Pay up.”

She gapes at him. “I’m wearing a bikini, dumbass.”

Alex makes a _tsk_ noise and says, “I don’t know what all you ladies can hide in your booby pockets. It is _not_ my area of expertise.”

“You’re a drag queen!”

He holds up a finger. “A drag queen who does not keep valuables in her bra, thank you very much.”

Charlie puts her hands over her boobs. “Well I don’t keep twenty dollar bills in my bikini, thank _you_ very much. I’m not that kind of theater major.” Looking back at the debauched scene in front of them, she gasps, and adds, “Oh, _shit.”_

Alex’s eyes widen. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this is _not_ good.”

***

Just as Cas is beginning to wonder if they should take this activity elsewhere, but not wanting to because he doesn’t think he can stand a single second without Dean’s soft, hot mouth on his own, a shadow falls over them.

Cas reluctantly opens his eyes and shields them with his hand, sun blazing in his vision.

Dean abruptly stills on top of him, tensed.

A head of blond, spiky hair eclipses the sun as the man stares down at them. “Good afternoon, Professor Milton, and, I’m presuming, Dr. Winchester.”

Dean, bless him, lies completely still instead of rolling off of Cas and exposing both of them, resting his forehead on Cas’s chest and catching his breath. Cas can feel his eyelashes flutter against his skin as his muscles clench in what Cas can only assume are the beginnings of his fight or flight reflexes.

Cas gulps, and, voice wrecked and breaking, replies, “Good afternoon, Dr. Balthazar.”

Balthazar squats down and looks at Cas, expression completely blank. He could be amused or infuriated or disappointed or jealous, and Cas would never know. Dr. Richard Balthazar, Dean of Liberal Arts, is the beautiful, tragic mystery of Cas’s mostly abysmal love life. Tone even and formal, Balthazar says, “I think we need to have a little chat.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I set this fic down for a week and that this chapter is short and angsty. But you guys dig angsty so I think you'll like it anyway.

Dean drapes a towel over the back of a chair in Dr. Balthazar’s office. The room is so big that he has his own small conference table in it, so the three of them take a seat.

He looks up at Cas guiltily, and Dean can’t tell if he’s blushing or if that’s just the Kool-Aid, and he definitely doesn’t understand why the Dean of Liberal Arts couldn’t just schedule a damn meeting with them later instead of talking about this _right fucking now_ while they’re still half-naked and soaking wet.

Then again, Dean reminds himself, he was caught dry humping a student in the quad in broad daylight.

So, Dean thinks, they’re probably definitely in a quantum fuck-ton of trouble.

Balthazar leans on the table and looks back and forth between both of them. “Where do I even begin?” He turns his gaze to Dean. “Defiling a student in public, Dr. Winchester. That’s grounds for termination. And if it was against his will, that’s grounds for much, much worse.”

“What?” Dean asks, trying to keep his voice at a normal volume. “It wasn’t against his will! Tell him Cas.” He looks to Cas, who stares down at his hands, folded neatly on the table, shoulders slumped. “Cas?”

Cas starts, and looks up from his hands to gaze at Dean blankly for a moment. “What?”

“Tell him it wasn’t against your will,” Dean replies, almost begging, heart pounding in his chest while he frantically reconstructs the entire situation in his head, making sure he didn’t misread anything.

Cas trains his attention back on Balthazar. “Dr. Balthazar–”

“Please, Castiel, I don’t think we need to slip back into formalities for this moron’s sake,” Balthazar interrupts, cocky smile etched across his face.

“Richard,” Cas continues, “it was not against my will.”

Dean clenches his jaw and stares at Balthazar, whose smile drops as he sits back in his chair.

“So you’re saying you voluntarily engaged in public sexual conduct with this man?” Balthazar asks.

Cas’s face flushes a brighter red than the Kool-Aid, and he looks back down at his hands again. “Yes, I did.”

Balthazar clears his throat and hesitates before replying.

Dean watches him, glaring as he rakes his gaze up and down Cas’s face and chest like a predator stalking its prey.

Leaning forward, Balthazar places a hand on top of Cas’s and smiles when Cas looks up at him.

Dean clenches his fists under the table and bites his tongue to remain silent.

“Castiel,” Balthazar says quietly, “I think we should discuss this sometime…” He glances over at Dean and then back to Cas, “…in private.” His thumb caresses the tops of Cas’s hands and Cas stares at him doing this, face completely scarlet. “Tonight maybe? That little Italian place on the pier? The one we went to last Spring?”

He looks up at Balthazar and smiles at him in a way he has never smiled at Dean, and it gives Dean a sick feeling in his gut.

“I’d like that,” Cas replies.

Dean digs his fingers into his thighs until it hurts.

Balthazar, hand still on top of Cas’s, turns his attention to Dean, and quips, “I’m sure this won’t happen again, will it, Mr. Winchester?”

“That’s Doc–” Dean begins, then cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. “No, it won’t, Dr. Balthazar.”

“Good.” Then Balthazar stands, buttons his jacket, and adds, “You are both dismissed.” He walks over to the door and opens it, gesturing for them to leave. When Dean passes him, Balthazar rests his hand on his shoulder and says quietly, “If I catch anything like this again, Dean, I will be notifying Dr. Singer and ensuring that your termination is immediate. You are quite lucky that I am fond of Mr. Milton.”

Dean holds back a sneer and stares at him as defiantly as he dares before nodding and shaking his arm out of Balthazar’s grip, then runs to catch up with Cas.

***

Cas is _mortified._

He heads toward his car at a clipped pace, eager to get home and wash the uncomfortably sticky Kool-Aid off of himself, then drink himself into a stupor so that he might have the tiniest chance of forgetting this entire ordeal ever happened.

Footsteps quickly approach him, and a warm hand rests on his shoulder.

Cas looks out the corner of his eye to see Dean slowing down next to him to match his pace, perfectly tan, chiseled chest and shoulders an utter distraction just like the rest of him. Cas wrenches himself away from Dean’s touch and walks faster.

“What the hell was that for?” Dean asks, keeping pace.

“Nothing,” Castiel mutters. “Go away.”

“C’mon, man. Let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to discuss, Dean.”

“Yes, there is,” Dean says, and grabs Cas’s arm again to keep him from walking away.

Cas stops and pulls out of Dean’s grasp. “Please don’t touch me, _Dr. Winchester.”_

Dean winces and takes a step back, hands up. “Okay fine, I won’t touch you again. But can you tell me what the fuck just happened back there? I thought Balthazar was married.”

Cas sighs. “He is, but he’s separated presently. He and I have had a… you know what? It’s none of your business.” He continues walking.

“What, are you like his fucking twink or something?”

Cas stops again and turns to glare at Dean, mouth agape. “How _dare_ you!” he shouts. “You come into my life, disrupt everything, distract me, manipulate me, pursue me and then drop me, and seem hellbent on making my life as miserable as human fucking possible, and now you have the audacity to be _jealous?_ Of a man who has admittedly been a total dick to me since the moment I met him but by comparison to you deserves a Nobel fucking Peace Prize?” He shakes his head. “You really are a piece of work, Dean. Now if you’ll excuse me, and _finally leave me the hell alone_ , I have a date I need to get ready for.”

Dean stares at him and swallows, eyes wide, and Cas looks at him for a moment longer before turning on his heel and walking away.

***

“Well fuck,” Charlie says, sitting with Alex on the bench outside of Dr. Balthazar’s office, listening to the entire transaction between Dr. Winchester and Professor Milton.

“Nope, that is _not_ good,” Alex adds, shaking his head.

“What do we do?”

“Looks like we gotta up the ante, girl.”

“How do we do that?” Charlie asks.

Alex _tsks,_ and replies, “How do drag queens do anything? With glue and glitter.”

Charlie nods. “Step one, glue. Step two, glitter? Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

“Yep. You got the glue. I got the glitter.” Alex grins as he stares at Dr. Winchester in the distance, who runs a hand through his hair, looking sad and dejected.

“Deal. Operation Destiel, Phase Two is officially a go.” Charlie holds up her hand, and Alex high-fives it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna get a tiny bit OOC for Dean, but I did it as an homage to Shakespeare. This isn't a translation of any specific dialogue... this is just how I write modern-day flirtatious wit. I hope this balances out the angst of the previous chapter a bit (even though it's more angst... but at least it's funny angst).

Cas gets home to a darkened house and tosses his keys on the table by the front door, then stumbles over to the couch and falls down on top it.

Six months ago, Castiel had been head over heels for the brilliant Richard Balthazar, author of controversial articles on mythological lore, renowned for his charm and his ability to explain abstract philosophical notions to the masses. The man was truly astonishing, and the moment he laid eyes on Cas was the moment Cas fell completely in love.

Then came the teasing and the toying with Cas’s heart. Balthazar thought it perfectly fine to string Cas along, telling him that he’s married and straight and would never have any interest in a petty graduate student, but nevertheless making time to seduce Cas, make out with him in the back of his Prius in movie theater parking lots in the dead of night, never letting it go any further than groping.

One time Balthazar fucked him, but it was drunk and messy and awkward, and neither of them acknowledge that it ever happened.

Then came the day, near the beginning of last summer, that Balthazar dropped off the face of the earth. He stopped texting Castiel, stopped responding to Cas’s emails and phone calls.

Finally, he replied to Cas and told him he was trying to make it work with his wife, that he couldn’t “do this” anymore, and that it would bear no effect on Cas’s upcoming dissertation.

This did not soothe Castiel’s conscience.

He felt enormous guilt over having an illicit affair not only with a married man, but with the man whose future was in the palm of his hand, no matter how frequently he assured Cas that their tryst would always remain separate, and that he and his wife would be getting divorced. Then he would finally be able to explore his sexuality and see if whatever it was between them could last and become something more.

After several months of trying to repair the damage of their relationship, Cas gave up.

Until today.

Cas had been thrilled at the prospect of another date with Balthazar, a chance to prove to him that he’s worth more than steamy make out sessions in the back of a car, that he has a good mind filled with good ideas that he wants to share with the brilliant doctor, even though Balthazar never listens.

As the night went on, however, Cas got _so bored_ listening to Balthazar ramble endlessly about his travels and his research and, for godsakes, his _wife_. He wouldn’t let Cas get a word in edgewise, he condemned Cas’s choice of dinner, and the few times Cas did speak, Balthazar told him he was wrong, generally about _Cas’s own research_. Balthazar gave him a headache with his incessant, pedantic _droning,_ and Cas found himself daydreaming about Dean, wondering what their… whatever it is they have… would be like if they could just start over. Maybe he wouldn’t have snapped at Dean, and maybe Dean wouldn’t have been such a horrendous jerk to him in return. Maybe, just maybe, they could be friends.

But now Balthazar has stormed back into Cas’s life, and Cas just can’t say no to that. The power the man holds over everything, Cas's heart included, is heady.

Besides, Dean is just an idiot Neanderthal anyway. A worker bee pushing out numbers on a calculator. Anyone can get a PhD in mechanical engineering. They’re just glorified grease monkeys.

At least Balthazar has class, and intellect, and would never in a million years think to make Cas a cheeseburger simply because he noticed Cas hadn’t eaten that day.

Balthazar would never do that, because he would never care to notice at all.

Cas may be more than a little drunk after the two bottles of wine he drank in order to drown out the monotone rambling of Balthazar, which is probably why he digs into his pocket for his cell phone and pulls up a blank text to Dean. He may or may not have entered Dean’s number into his phone from Sam’s emergency contact list on the fridge.

_C: Fuck you, Dr. Fucking Winchester._

It’s late, and he doesn’t expect Dean to reply, so he starts dozing off on the couch, face planted on a throw pillow, limbs sprawled everywhere.

The buzz of his phone jolts him awake.

_D: I’ve fucked over more people in my life than I can ever admit to, pal. You’re going to have to narrow it down for me._

Cas smirks, and replies:

_C: You’re lucky my moral compass is broken, otherwise Balthazar would have canned your ass in a heartbeat._

_D: Ah, hey, Cas. Drunk again?_

_C: Shut up._

_D: Have fun on your date with hubby? Even though he’s someone else’s hubby?_

_C: Green is not a good color on you._

_D: Yeah, but you look sexy in red. ;)_

_C: You’re lucky it washed off so easily._

_D: But unlucky I wasn’t there to wash it off for you._

Cas knows he’s drunk as fuck, but he’s pretty sure Dean is flirting with him. And he doesn't know how to feel about that. His dick twitches in his pants when he remembers Dean on top of him, kissing him frantically, like Cas was the only thing in the world to him that mattered. He decides to push the line a bit.

_C: I would have only accepted the assistance of your tongue._

_D: And I would have given it to you._

_C: You would have to dull its edges first._

_D: You didn’t seem to mind it when it was sucking on your lower lip. I think you’re kinkier than you let on._

_C: And I think you’re softer than your tongue would have you seem._

_D: I think you should come over and find out for yourself._

_C: Distractions, distractions. What kind of professor are you, deterring a student from his studies?_

_D: One who teaches with many actions and few words. You should let me show you._

_C: I have little patience for those who have no patience for words._

_D: Why use words when my lips and hands can so easily take them away?_

_C: And replace them with my gasping adoration. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…_

_D: And I’ll finish what I started._

Cas sighs and runs a hand over his face. If he continues this, he will completely lack the will power necessary to deter Dean’s surprisingly eloquent flirtation, and then he’ll end up at Dean’s house being fucked into the mattress until dawn.

He’s not sure _why_ exactly he needs to keep his resolve, but he’s going to, and he’s going to stay away from Dean Winchester for as long as he possibly can.

Because Dean is a dick. A handsome, kind, idiotic jackass, and Cas just doesn’t have time for his petty, childish games.

_C: I’m going to bed now. My own bed._

_D: Hey, Cas?_

_C: Yes, Dean?_

_D: You can do better than Balthazar._

Cas huffs a laugh. Dean doesn’t seem to understand that there _is_ no better than Balthazar. The man is the finest specimen humanity has to offer: he’s brilliant, and handsome, and kind, and funny, and charming, and an amazing kisser.

Reluctantly and drunkenly, Cas admits to himself that the only person more brilliant, handsome, kind, funny, and charming than Richard Balthazar – and who is not just an amazing kisser, but probably the best kisser of all time – is Dean Winchester.

_C: And you can do better than me. Goodnight, Dean._

***

Dean doesn’t understand what the hell just happened.

He tosses his phone on his bed and shoves his hand down his pajama pants, angrily fucking his fist and thinking about Cas coming apart underneath him. Because he can't get the thought of it out of his goddamn head. He can't get the thought of his tongue on Cas's body out of his goddamn head. And, most importantly, he can't get the thought of the way Balthazar looked at Cas out of his goddamn head. Like he was prey.

He agrees with Cas on only one thing: green is not a good color on Dean.

***

A week later, Charlie grins proudly at her finest achievement to date: Dr. Dean Winchester, trapped in a stockade, while a long line of students wait to pelt him with pies.

For charity, of course.

“Can we get this show on the road?” Dean calls. “This thing really isn’t comfortable.”

“You brought this on yourself, Dr. Winchester!” Charlie calls back from several feet away, looking around anxiously for Alex.

Finally, he runs up to her. “Milton is on his way.”

“What did you say to get him to show up?” Charlie asks.

Alex looks at her quizzically. “The truth. Seriously, can anyone say no to coating this handsome motherfucker’s face in cream?”

“I can hear you, Carter!” Dean shouts.

“It’s a _compliment,_ sugar!” Alex shouts back.

Dean groans and hangs his head. “What are we waiting for?”

Castiel walks onto the quad, staring back at the dozens of students waiting to pay money to pie Dean Winchester in the face.

“I thought you were kidding,” he says to Alex when he approaches.

“Hun, I would not kid you about something so serious as raising money for trans awareness. Via pieing Dr. Winchester in the face, of course,” Alex replies.

Cas looks over at Dean and waves condescendingly.

Dean sneers back at him.

“Why am I going first?” Cas asks Charlie. “Aren’t all these students in line?”

“Well, yeah,” Charlie replies, “but we figure since the Kool-Aid water balloon fiasco, you deserve to deflower Dr. Winchester by drawing first blood.”

Alex looks at her, eyes wide. “Was that much graphic imagery really necessary?”

She elbows him in the stomach. “Yes, it was supposed to be _subliminal.”_

Castiel eyes them back and forth, brow furrowed.

Charlie holds out her hand and smiles. “That’ll be five dollars, please. You get three pies.”

Cas rifles in his wallet and hands her a twenty.

She and Alex start filling the pie trays with whipped cream and passing them to Castiel, who chucks them from twenty feet away at Dean’s face.

The first three fall short.

“Come on, Cas! You can do better than that!” Dean shouts.

Cas narrows his eyes and picks up another plate, lobbing it at Dean’s face. It hits his left side, and he flinches and curses.

Grinning, Cas tells Alex, “This is very fun. Worth interrupting paper-grading.”

“Doll, after the Kool-Aid, you deserve some fun,” Alex replies.

Cas throws the next one at Dean and it hits Dean’s chin.

Dean shouts, “You got plans after this, Cas? You gonna help me… clean up?” and winks with the eye that isn’t covered in whipped cream.

Cas grumbles and throws the next one. It hits Dean square in the face.

“You know, Cas, I’ve been working on dulling my edges since the last time we talked. I hope you have too if you're gonna help me... wash this off.”

He throws the next one, and Dean continues, “Even though I like a little edge, if you know what I’m saying.” He grins, teeth as white as the cream on his face, and winks again.

Charlie can see Professor Milton flushing as he throws pie after pie at Dr. Winchester.

"Is white a good color on me, Cas? Or is that just for married people?"

Cas chucks another pie that lands in Dean's hair.

Dean adds, “You know, Cas, I still haven’t shown you my doctoral research after our conversation on my undergraduate work. I would love–”

Cas hits him with another pie.

“–to continue our discussion. I mean–”

Another pie to the face. Dean licks some whipped cream off the side of his lips.

“–my doctoral research is impressive. I would love to show you some of my–”

Cas growls as he lobs the next pie.

_“–techniques.”_

Cas’s face is beet red, and he’s out of pies.

Before Professor Milton blows a gasket, Charlie claps her hands together and says, “Well! That was fun! We should give the other students a turn though.”

Cas glares at Dean, and shouts, “My apologies, _Dr. Winchester_ , my calendar is currently booked with the company of a man who doesn’t take his research as lightly as you.”

Dean’s smile falters momentarily, then picks back up. “Oh, I assure you, _Professor Milton_ , I take my research _very seriously_.” 

Cas stares at Dean for a moment longer, lips pursed, before turning his attention to Charlie and Alex. “Thank you for inviting me. I feel that the Kool-Aid incident and the face pieing have sufficiently balanced each other out.”

He marches away without sparing a glance at Dean, and Dean looks after him for as long as he can before the stockade prevents him from turning his head any further.

Charlie huddles close to Alex and whispers, “What the fuck was that all about?”

“Girl,” Alex begins, shaking his head, “I don’t even.”

“I think we might be in over our heads.”

“Nah, we’re just gonna have to try a different glue is all.”

Charlie nods. “Whipped cream is a terrible adhesive.”

“Agreed.”

Charlie stands up straight and turns to the line of people. “Step right up! Five dollars only! Pie your favorite mechanical engineering professor in the face for trans rights awareness! It doesn’t have to make sense! Step right up!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the Shakespeare.

That weekend, Dean is on his Saturday morning run around campus, five miles longer and a couple hours later in the day than his weekday morning jogs. The campus is quiet, so he uses this specific time every week to take his mind off of everything: no music, no students, no distractions. Just his feet and the pavement and the sun rising in the distance.

Dean sees a flash of bright red hair when he turns a corner, then hears a familiar deep voice from behind a wall say, “Girl, Professor Milton wants to take it up the ass from Dr. Winchester. I _know_  it.”

Several reactions happen all at once: Dean gapes, gasps out a _“Wh–,”_ trips on the curb during his next step forward, then goes flying through the air, landing flat on his face with a loud, _“Hmmph!”_

He decides to lie completely still, keeping his face implanted in the grass so he can hear the rest of the conversation.

“Bullshit,” a woman replies. When Dean recognizes the voice, he sighs. “Your advisor wouldn’t have told you that.”

Charlie. Of course it’s Charlie.

“No really,” the man replies, “you know how drunk he was at the Halloween party. He would not _shut up_ about Winchester. But he never said it was Dr. Winchester. He just kept going on and on about how _funny_ and _handsome_ and _smart_ his roommate’s brother was. Then I found out that his roommate is Sam Winchester, moose-like and hella gorgeous law student younger brother of–”

“Dr. Winchester,” Charlie finishes in awe.

The man she’s talking to must be Alex Carter, whom Dean doesn’t have in any classes but who is notorious for his drag shows at The Emerald, as well as random, suspicious appearances in Dean’s life.

“But that was, like, months ago,” Charlie adds. “They obviously hate each other now. I mean there was the balloon fight, and then the pie thing. There’s no way Professor Milton still wants to fuck Dr. Winchester.”

“Hun, I think it’s just gotten worse…”

They start to walk away and Dean crawls on his stomach through the grass closer to the wall Charlie and Alex are standing behind. From the ground, he peers around the corner and looks up.

They’ve moved further away, but they stop again, so Dean gets back on his feet and crouches against the wall, squatting down, head tilted around the corner to keep listening.

“How so?” Charlie asks.

Throat constricted, Dean takes a gulp from his water bottle.

“Don't you see the way he looks at Dr. Winchester? Shit. He’s _in love_ ,” Alex concludes.

The water sprays out of Dean's mouth, and he coughs and sputters in its wake. Gasping, he peers around the corner once more, and sees Charlie look around and ask, “What was that?”

“Hell if I know,” Alex answers. “This state has all kinds of weird-ass birds making weird-ass noises.”

“Anyway,” Charlie continues, “you really think Professor Milton is in love with Dr. Winchester?”

“Think? Sugar, I know it all the way down to my bones. No one can pretend to hate someone that much without secretly pining for them from within.”

When Dean looks around the corner again, Alex is holding his hands over his heart and looking at the sky dramatically.

Dean rolls his eyes.

And then furrows his brow, frowning.

None of this could possibly be true.

“Yeah, but did he say anything to you?” Charlie prods.

Alex’s voice lowers to a whisper and Dean takes the risk of crouching closer to the corner of the wall, tilting his head around it so that he’s sure they would be able to see him if they looked in his direction. “You have to promise not to tell anyone, but at my last advising session, we got into it, you know? Shooting the shit and whatever, real deep stuff, love and souls and guts and all that. So I asked him if he was in love, and he said yes, so I asked him with whom, and he got this glittery look all over his face– you know the look, all us gay boys have it– and he sighed, legit _sighed,_ and said that he’s secretly in love with…”

Dean holds his breath, afraid to move or blink or breathe.

“With?” Charlie asks, urging Alex on.

Alex hesitates.

Dean is about to explode. He wants to jump out from behind the wall and shake the answer out of him, but, he remembers, Alex is a lot bigger than he is, so that’s probably not a great solution.

Finally, Alex concludes, “He didn’t say.”

Dean groans, then claps a hand over his mouth, but thankfully his noise is masked by Charlie exclaiming, “Aw, come on!”

Standing up, Dean sighs and wipes the small blades of grass off his t-shirt and shorts, then turns to continue on his route.

“I’m just kidding. He said he’s in love with Dean Winchester.”

Dean trips on nothing and falls flat on his face again.

Charlie makes an obnoxious squealing noise.

Alex asks, “But do you know if Dr. Winchester is in love with Professor Milton?”

“I’ve only talked to him a couple times,” Charlie replies. “I don’t even know if he’s into dudes. Or humans. You should see the way that guy teaches. It’s like he only has eyes for machines.”

Scoffing, Alex says, “Then Milton is perfect for him.”

Dean lies sprawled on the grass, mouth open in shock and trying to regain his wits.

Castiel Milton is _in love with him._

He stops listening to the conversation, mind whirling while trying to reconfigure the last several interactions he’s had with the stodgy grad student with the fierce blue eyes and the gorgeous sex hair and the sinfully perfect lips.

Maybe he’s been seeing this all wrong. Maybe Cas _doesn’t_ hate him. Maybe, _“Fuck you, Dr. Fucking Winchester,”_ is history nerd code for, _“I love you, you sexy, witty, green-eyed engineer who is totally not a Neanderthal.”_

Dean lifts himself up and takes a deep breath. He can no longer hear Charlie and Alex talking, so he figures they must have walked on while Dean was in his face-planted reverie.

He continues jogging along the path, and after a few minutes, he spots Charlie and Alex walking in his direction.

“Well speak of the devil,” Alex says with a sly smile as Dean passes.

Dean smiles back and gives them a polite nod.

From the corner of his eye, he can swear he sees Charlie wink at him.

***

Cas sits at his desk, staring at his dissertation.

He can’t read words anymore. Everything is just squiggles of ink on dead trees. Language itself has become bereft of all meaning. His brain can no longer think in concrete terms. Everything is abstract.

It’s the red squiggles, though, that really get to him. He can’t decipher them anymore. They’re just shapes of anger and madness flowing out of the pen of one Dr. Richard Balthazar. Cas can see Balthazar’s face in the red ink, glaring at him with lust-filled eyes while he says things like, _“But I’m not yours, Castiel.”_

Cas still can’t believe he said that last night. Those five words ring in his ears, the feel of Balthazar underneath him on his own damned couch as Cas straddled his hips and ground down on top of him, begging him to touch Cas anywhere, to kiss back harder, to show any sign of desire whatsoever.

But all he said was, _“But I’m not yours, Castiel.”_ Out of nowhere. Just to remind Cas, just to tease him, just to make him want Balthazar more than he does.

And it makes Cas hate himself.

Because _it works._

It doesn’t matter what the red ink scrawled across Cas’s research really says, because all Cas can read is, _“I’m not yours.”_

Cas growls and shoves everything off of his desk. Papers fly, pens and pencils clatter to the ground, a glass shatters. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything anymore.

He sinks back down onto his desk chair and buries his face in his hands.

The image of bright green eyes flits briefly across his mind, then a devilish grin, dimples and freckles and whole-body laughter; the endless mirth of Dean Winchester. He thinks back to the feel of Dean’s body against his own, Dean’s lips kissing all the burdensome thoughts away from Cas’s mind, Dean’s hands all over him, rough and callused, but from what, Cas has never thought to ask.

Cas is startled from his reverie by his front door closing, then the clattering of keys on the table by the door.

Footsteps approach him and a pile of envelopes land on his desk as he looks up at Sam, who is looking around at the mess, and asks, “What the hell happened here?”

“Would you believe me if I told you this was one of Dean’s vengeful games?” Cas replies.

Sam huffs a laugh and takes a seat at his own desk, ripping open an envelope. “Are you kidding? Dean would never do that.”

Cas narrows his eyes. “How can you be so sure?”

With a sidelong glance at Cas, Sam replies, “Dean might be a big bag of dicks in terms of pranks, but he knows where the line is, and he doesn’t cross it. The dude is a fucking saint for the most part.”

Cas tilts his head. “I can’t tell if you’re using sarcasm.”

Sam scoffs. “Have you met the guy? I’ve told you about our childhood. You think he got a PhD handed to him on a silver platter?”

“I apologize,” Cas says, looking around the room, trying to remember any conversation he may have had with Sam about this, “I don’t recall.”

Opening one of the letters and scanning it, Sam replies absently, “Our mom died when we were little and our Dad was an abusive alcoholic.” He stops reading and looks back up at Cas. “Dean dropped out of high school at sixteen to start working so he could keep us fed. He worked a billion jobs so I could go to college, and then I told him I would only go if he went. So he got his GED and kicked ass through undergrad. Then he kicked ass through grad school. And now he’s kicking ass as a professor. There are already whispers going around about him replacing Singer as the Dean of Engineering in a few years.”

“I thought I remember you saying he used to get in trouble, though.”

“Well, yeah, but he did whatever he had to so that we didn’t starve. Sure he hustled pool and pickpocketted and shoplifted, and who knows what the hell else depraved shit he put himself through for my sake. Sixty hours a week in fast food doesn’t keep a family of three fed and it sure as hell didn’t keep a roof over our heads.”

Cas stares at his hands, clasped in his lap.

After a moment, Sam continues, “I mean, I get why you kicked him out. He’s… intense. And a lot to handle most days. He’s this manic genius survivalist and I owe him everything.” Sam leans forward in his chair and stares at Cas until Cas looks up from his hands. “I know he’s a total dork, Cas, but Dean climbed his way out of hell with nothing on his side but his own blood, sweat, and tears.” He sighs, and, standing, concludes, “Take from that what you will." With one last meaningful look at Castiel, he heads upstairs.

Cas, unable to process everything Sam just told him, spins his chair back around to gaze at the open surface area of his desk. He had forgotten it was made of oak, and that he carved his initials into the bottom left corner of it when he was young. It had been his father’s desk back then, covered with ancient tomes and notebooks, ink and bones and dirt.

This desk has held a lot of history, in more ways than one.

As Cas thumbs over the evidence of his childish vandalism, he spots the envelopes Sam tossed on his desk from the corner of his eye.

The top envelope looks like a card.

He picks it up and opens it. Red, curly cursive script reads:

_You are cordially invited* to attend the New Faculty Ceremony_

_Sunday, December 2, 6:00 PM_

_The Emerald_

Below the text, a small footnote says:

_*attendance is mandatory_

Cas furrows his brow. The invitation is for tomorrow. It seems very rude of the faculty to give him such short notice for a mandatory event, and he wonders why he didn’t get an email to accompany it.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he fishes in his pants pocket to take it out.

It’s an email.

He opens it, and sees that it’s a meeting invite for the New Faculty Ceremony tomorrow night at The Emerald.

The bottom of the evite reads:

_Attendance is ABSOLUTELY MANDATORY!_

Followed a little further down the page by:

_You must attend! OR ELSE._

Cas blinks at his phone and sets it on his desk gently, narrowing his eyes in skepticism. He blinks a few times, then leans over his desk and rereads it again. Then he scrolls up to the top of the message to confirm that it was sent to him by the faculty listserv. He picks up the envelope to confirm that it was, in fact, sent from the campus post office. It was, and he also notes that the envelope has the Events Department logo printed on it.

Cas leans back and sighs, seeing no way to get out of this “ABSOLUTELY MANDATORY” event.

Hopefully Balthazar won’t show, he thinks.

But hopefully Dean will.

***

 _You must attend! OR ELSE!_ Dean reads, and his lips dip into a frown. He had no idea the Stanford faculty were so damn pushy.

He accepts the evite as he approaches the front door of his apartment, and absently grabs his mail. Shoving his phone back into the pocket of his shorts, he sifts through and sees an invitation. He opens it, reads it, and shakes his head.

The Stanford events team is _really_ pushy.

Dean is reluctant to give up his Sunday night routine of catching up on all the shows on his DVR, but if there’s a chance Cas could be there, it couldn’t be all bad.

His heart skips a beat when he thinks of Cas’s lips, turned up into a shy smile, the way Cas's lips feel and taste against his own. He imagines making Cas laugh and taking him away from all his stress, because he remembers what it was like, those short months before being awarded a doctorate, and he wishes he could do something to alleviate some of Cas’s burden.

Dean would love to alleviate that stress in the form of discovering Cas’s body with kisses, discovering his mind with words, discovering his heart with his own, ready and open and willing and waiting, just for Cas.

Dean stops short, dropping the smile that had swept over his face, and realizes with horror the all thoughts that just crossed through his mind.

Aloud, he whispers, “When the _fuck_ did I fall in love with Cas?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the stuff in italics is taken straight from Much Ado, which I have mostly memorized. 
> 
> Can't tell if this will be one or two more chapters. I might be able to wrap everything up in one more.
> 
> Oh, and before I forget... *Hands you box of tissues* You might be needing these.

The next afternoon, Castiel is sorting through his collection of waistcoats for the upcoming New Faculty Ceremony, when his phone chimes.

He checks his cell to find a text from Balthazar.

After rolling his eyes, he opens the message:

_B: I’ll be in town this evening._

_C: I know you will. We all have to go to the New Faculty Ceremony. It’s “ABSOLUTELY MANDATORY.”_

_B: I am unfamiliar with such an event._

_C: You didn’t get the invite?_

_B: Unless my assistant neglected to notify me, I don’t believe I did._

Castiel narrows his eyes and pulls up the evite again.

It suddenly occurs to him that having a “New Faculty Ceremony” halfway through the semester at the same drag bar where Alex emcees as Ruby Red is a little _too_ convenient.

He doesn’t know what Alex’s intentions are, but Cas is getting exhausted with the games everyone seems to be making him play, as if they’re all still in high school.

Though Cas didn’t have any friends in high school with whom to play said games, so he can only guess this is what it would have been like.

He replies to Balthazar:

_C: What time are you coming over?_

_B: Later._

Cas sighs and laments Balthazar's inability to ever give a straight answer.

_C: Fine. I’ll see you then._

Cas’s considers not showing up to the “New Faculty Ceremony,” but curiosity gets the best of him, so he pulls on a pair of black dockers, a white button-up shirt, and a dark gray waistcoat. He rolls up his sleeves and adds a cobalt blue necktie to complete the look, then gives himself a once-over in a full-length mirror.

He decides he’ll at least stop by the event, then duck out early to go home and meet Balthazar – if he even shows up – for what will presumably be another evening of sexual frustration and power games.

When he puts his wallet and cell phone in his pocket, he stops, and it occurs to him that he’s more nervous about running into Dean at whatever this “New Faculty Ceremony” turns out to be than he is about Balthazar randomly deciding to come over tonight.

His stomach does a flip of excitement and anxiety, and it remains unsettled for the duration of the drive to The Emerald.

***

Dean gets to The Emerald five minutes early. The parking lot is empty, and were it not for the bright neon green sign over the large brick building and massive gay pride flag waving on the side of it, Dean would think he’s at the wrong place.

It occurs to him that it’s a bit strange to have a faculty event at a gay bar.

Then again, he reasons, this _is_ California.

He could also use some new friends besides Sam, who has become increasingly preoccupied as his Bar exam approaches.

He gets out of the Impala and walks toward the building. A sign on the door says, _“CLOSED SUNDAYS,”_ but there’s a piece of copy paper below it that reads, _“New Faculty Ceremony,”_ in red glitter paint.

Dean sighs.

He’s been had.

Nevertheless, he enters the building, and isn’t surprised to see it empty.

There’s no one behind the bar, and the lights are dimmed, but one table near the front of the stage has a lit candle on it.

Dean rubs a hand over his face and looks around, hesitating for a moment before walking up to the table.

It’s covered in note cards with the same red glitter paint all over them. Dean picks one up. It reads:

_“When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.”_

Dean huffs a laugh and picks up another.

_“He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man; and he that is more than a youth is not for me; and he that is less than a man, I am not for him.”_

Dean ponders that one a moment, until he's distracted by the front door opening. He turns his attention and his smile drops, heart immediately leaping into his throat, when he sees Cas hesitantly stride into the darkened room.

***

Castiel cannot believe he fell for this.

He sees the red glitter paint on the sign taped to the door of The Emerald, recognizes Alex’s handwriting, and groans.

Hesitating, his hand hovers over the door, then he takes a deep breath, and pulls it open.

His eyes take a moment to adjust as he walks into the dimly lit club, but at last he focuses his vision and narrows his gaze on the familiar, shapely buttocks of Dean Winchester, adorned in a well-tailored pair of gray slacks, below a nicely pressed blue dress shirt.

Cas darts his eyes back up when Dean turns around to look at him.

They stare at each other for a long moment in silence, Cas frozen in place, before Dean smiles and says, “I think someone’s trying to tell us something.”

Cas smiles back, completely against his will. He takes a couple steps closer to Dean, looking down at his feet to hide the blush creeping up his face. “Hmm, I wonder who.”

Dean huffs a laugh and takes a step toward Cas.

With a deep breath, Cas looks up at Dean, who is gazing intently at him and taking another tentative step forward. He’s in Cas’s personal bubble, but Cas doesn’t move away. He just stares into the green eyes staring back at him, trying to find answers to questions neither of them dare to ask.

“Cas…” Dean begins.

“No, Dean,” Cas says, shaking his head. “I apologize for the way I’ve been treating you. I–”

“It’s fine, Cas. Really,” Dean interrupts. “I’m sorry too.” Then he reaches forward and takes Cas’s hand, lifts it to his lips, and kisses it softly. Quietly, he says, _“Here’s our own hands against our hearts.”_ Then he places Cas’s hand against his chest and smiles, adding with a shake of his head, _“Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity.”_

Cas laughs, taking a step closer to Dean so that they’re mere inches apart, and, grinning, replies, _“I would not deny you; but, by this good day, I yield upon a great persuasion, and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.”_

Dean pulls him in by the waist, lifting Cas’s hand to the side his face, and, grinning back, leans in, whispering in a low rumble, _“Peace. I will stop your mouth.”_ Hesitating for a moment to stare deeply into Cas’s eyes, he leans forward and closes the gap between them, pressing their lips together in a soft, slow kiss.

Cas sighs in relief, every ounce of tension in his body dissipating as he falls into the kiss, falls into Dean’s embrace, falls completely, wholly, undeniably in love with this incredible man, the amazing, brilliant, miraculous Dr. Dean Winchester.

Dean wraps his arms around Cas’s waist and holds him, pressing their bodies closer together, parting Cas’s lips with his own and deepening the kiss. It’s gentle and languid and sweet. Dean tastes like mint and smells like fresh laundry set out on the line to dry on a hot summer day. Everything about him reminds Cas of mischief and fun and freedom, everything he's is lacking in his own life and never knew until this moment could be so important, to just let go, take a step back, and look at the big picture. Right now, the big picture is the feel of Dean’s strong, muscular body pressed against his own; the feel of Dean’s arms wrapped around him, those callused hands which he finally understands running up and down his back; the feel of his soft, confident lips kissing him in a way that no one has ever kissed him before.

A slow, stringed tempo starts up, and they break apart to look toward the sudden source of the noise.

Ruby Red strides on stage wearing a red-sequined evening gown, red silk gloves up the length of her forearms, platinum blond beehive wig atop her head. Microphone in hand, she sings in a deep baritone:

_Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,_   
_Men were deceivers ever;_   
_One foot in sea, and one on shore,_   
_To one thing constant never._   
_Then sigh not so,_   
_But let them go,_   
_And be you blithe and bonny,_   
_Converting all your sounds of woe_   
_Into Hey nonny, nonny._

While Ruby Red sings, Dean takes Cas’s hand again, and asks, “May I have this dance?”

Cas beams, and replies, “You may.” He reaches up and circles his arms around Dean’s neck, then Dean puts his hands on Cas’s hips, and they sway to the gentle rhythm of the music.

After a moment, Dean pulls him in even closer, and Cas rests his head on Dean’s shoulder, then closes his eyes, relishing in the calm quiet of their embrace, and his newfound utter lack of stress.

_Sing no more ditties, sing no mo_   
_Of dumps so dull and heavy;_   
_The fraud of men was ever so,_   
_Since summer first was leavy._   
_Then sigh not so,_   
_But let them go,_   
_And be you blithe and bonny,_   
_Converting all your sounds of woe_   
_Into Hey nonny, nonny._

When the song ends, they break apart reluctantly and applaud Ruby Red.

She throws air kisses at them, and Dean wolf-whistles. Then she steps aside and holds out her arms. Charlie runs onto the stage and takes a bow while Dean and Cas continue clapping.

Charlie takes the mic from Ruby Red, and asks, “Are you guys finally done being douchebags to each other?”

Dean takes Cas's hand again, entwining their fingers together, then shrugs, replying, “I dunno, Charlie. I don’t think I can date a guy who doesn’t even have a doctorate yet.” He gives Cas a little shove with his shoulder.

Cas’s gasps, and his stomach churns when everything comes flooding back to him.

He completely forgot about Balthazar.

Dean’s smile drops. “Cas? I’m just kidding about the doctorate thing–”

“No,” Cas interrupts, “it’s not that.” He pulls away from Dean and takes his cell phone out of his pocket.

He has six texts from Balthazar and two missed phone calls.

“Oh, well, I mean, if it’s the ‘dating’ thing I mentioned, we don’t have to do that either if you don’t want to…”

Cas scans through the texts:

_B: Looking so forward to having fun with you soon._

_B: I’m on my way!_

_B: Are you here?_

_B: You know, Castiel, it’s really not wise to keep the man who holds your career in his hands waiting._

_B: I see the game you’re trying to play._

_B: We need to talk._

Cas types back a quick response:

_C: With Dean. Be there soon._

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas says, looking up from his phone. “I have to go.”

“Where?” Dean asks, face falling from its once hopeful smile.

“I have to go meet Balthazar.”

Dean huffs a nervous laugh. “It’s a little late for an advising appointment, don’t you think?”

Cas stares at him, jaw clenched.

Lips in a thin line, Dean shrugs and replies, “Okay, whatever, go do whatever the hell you gotta do.”

“No! Dean, I just…” Cas swallows, the words _“…the man who holds your career in his hands…”_ running through his mind. He can’t risk it. He has to go appease Balthazar.

But he also can’t risk losing Dean now that things are finally okay. He can’t let the only light in his life fade just for a piece of paper and a fancy title.

...A piece of paper and a fancy title that he devoted years of his life trying to obtain, he reminds himself.

He looks at Dean, and Dean stares back, a glimmer of rapidly dimming hope in his eyes. After a pause, Cas’s voice breaks when he concludes, “I have to go, Dean. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s blinks, and his mouth opens like he’s about to say something, to argue or convince Cas to stay, then he closes it again and shakes his head.

A bubble rises in Cas’s throat, but before the tears welling up in his eyes can fall, he turns away and leaves.

***

Dean watches in disbelief as the door closes behind Cas.

“What just happened?” Charlie asks, letting the microphone fall to her side.

Taking a deep breath, Dean turns to them and plasters on a smile. “Nice try, guys. I appreciate the effort, really, I do. This was… nice of you, to go to all this trouble.”

A silence falls over the three of them, and Dean adds, “All right, well, I’m gonna head out. Charlie, better see you in class tomorrow. Alex, uh… nice dress, man. Very, um, shiny.”

“Thanks,” Alex says, solemn and quiet. “Take it easy, hun.”

Charlie jumps off the stage and runs over to Dean, lifting her arms to circle around him and hug him tight. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Winchester. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t know about…” she trails off and pulls away.

“Yeah,” Dean says, quiet, letting go of her and looking down at his feet. “It was dumb of me to think a guy like Cas could ever love a Neanderthal like me.”

“That’s just not true, though!”

Dean huffs a laugh and wipes at the corner of his eye. With a wavering smile, he says, _“I am trusted with a muzzle… therefore I have decreed not to sing in my cage.”_

He gives Charlie’s shoulder a squeeze, then turns away to leave.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: explicit non-consent, violence. 
> 
> This chapter is very dark. If you would like to skip it, please scroll to the bottom for a brief summary and an explanation. This is the only chapter that includes triggering content.

Dean isn’t ready to go home. He can’t face the emptiness of his apartment. He can’t face his loneliness just yet.

He drives down a couple blocks and finds a dive bar called the Roadhouse.

When he enters, he’s taken back to the old days of hustling pool and twenty-dollar handjobs in filthy bathroom stalls, fighting and fucking and making it through life by the skin of his teeth.

He’s thankful for his life now, everything he’s earned and all the opportunities he’s been afforded, but he can’t deny how much he misses living life on the edge, never knowing where his next meal is going to come from, never knowing quite how far he would be willing to go just to make it to the next day.

He misses pushing his limits, just to see what he’s capable of.

There’s not much of that in the life of a professor.

Dean sits down at the bar, and the bartender, a young blond girl, asks, “What’ll ya have?”

“Tully. Straight. Make it a double,” he replies, voice gruff.

“Sure thing.” She nods and pulls out a whiskey glass, pouring out two shots and sliding it over. “That’s eight. You want a tab?”

Dean pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, and replies, “Nah,” then takes out a ten and puts in on the bar.

“What’s your name? I haven’t seen you around here,” she asks.

“Dean.” He takes a long pull from his whiskey, relishing in the bitter burn down his throat. It’s been a long time since he’s had liquor.

“I’m Jo,” the girl replies.

Dean holds up his glass to her and smirks.

She meets his gaze for a moment, and adds, blunt, “You look like you just got dumped.”

He huffs a laugh in response and nods once. “That’s exactly what happened, yeah.”

Jo cocks her head to the side and, with a sly smile, replies, “Well that’s too bad,” then she pulls out a pen from her apron and scrawls her phone number on a cocktail napkin. When she slides it over to Dean, she offers, “If you need to, you know, _talk_ about it, let me know. I’m a great listener.” She smiles a bit wider, big brown eyes staring at Dean through a fan of dark lashes.

Dean meets her eyes and smiles right back, while the angel and devil on his shoulders start bickering.

 _You’re old enough to be her father, Dean,_ the angel says.

 _Dude, he’s only thirty. At worst, he’s old enough to be her creepy uncle,_ the devil replies.

The angel rebuttals, _Still. It’s not nice to use people for rebound sex._

The devil scoffs, and asks, _You know what else isn’t nice? Cockblocking. So shut your cakehole._

Sliding the number off the table, Dean replies, “Yeah, I’d love to meet up and… talk about it sometime,” then puts the napkin in his shirt pocket.

Jo grins at him and winks, then leaves to wait on other patrons.

Dean stares down the length of the bar. Being an early Sunday evening, the place is mostly empty but for the lonely and the drunken, and it’s entirely likely that Dean is going to be both of those things in a short amount of time.

He sees a man, not much older than himself, smile down at a young woman at the end of the bar. He looks at her with a sure smile across his face, white teeth glinting, expression so openly predatory that he expects to see fangs when the man opens his mouth to laugh.

He puts his hand on top of the woman’s and rests it there, leaning in to whisper something in her ear.

She giggles, placing her other hand over her mouth, and the man lifts his arm to get Jo’s attention and order the woman another drink.

Dean’s stomach churns, and flashes of Balthazar cross his mind: the way he looked at Cas, so far down on him, like Cas was a thing, a toy to be played with instead of the brilliant madman he is; the way he rested his hand on top of Cas’s, not as a gesture of affection, but of condescension; the way he simply dismissed Dean instead of actually reprimanding him or going to Human Resources to handle it.

Beyond the jealousy, Balthazar had looked almost… _proud_ of Dean.

His gut wrenches again. He gulps down the last of his whiskey, and slams the glass down on the bar.

He doesn’t know why. He’s not going to dwell on it. He’s not going to analyze it like a fucking machine.

He just _knows_ he needs to get to Cas’s house _right fucking now._

***

When Cas pulls up to his house, it’s dark inside.

Sam must still be at the library, he reasons.

He approaches his front porch to find Balthazar sitting on a lawn chair, smoking a cigarette and staring into space.

Cas sits down on the lawn chair next to him, and says, “You’re right. We need to talk.”

Without looking at him, Balthazar takes one last drag from his cigarette and drops it on the ground, snuffing it with his boot. He stands, and looks at Cas for the first time. “Let’s talk inside.”

“No, Richard. We can have this conversation right here. It won’t be long,” Cas replies, not budging from his seat.

Balthazar smirks. “Let’s go inside, Cas. It’s only polite to offer your guest a drink, right?”

Jaw clenched, Cas hesitates for a moment, then stands and crosses in front of Balthazar to unlock the door and open it for him.

He gestures inside, and Balthazar goes in. “Now, was that so hard?”

Cas turns on a light, and asks, “What do you want to drink?”

Huffing a laugh, Balthazar slowly steps into Cas’s bubble of personal space and runs a finger down his necktie. “Oh, nothing.”

Cas takes a step back, then he squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath, staring Balthazar down. “We can’t do this anymore, Richard. I’m sorry.”

A smile creeps up Balthazar’s face, and he takes another step closer to Cas. “Why? Is it because of that nitwit grease monkey? You know you can do better, Castiel.”

Cas’s mouth opens to reply, but no words come out.

Balthazar leans in, and, lips brushing Castiel’s ear, whispers, “Let’s just forget about this pathetic attempt at leaving me. I know, it’s fun to pretend sometimes, but the game is over now, and you will always be mine. No one else will ever treat you as well as I do, Castiel. I give you my time, my incredibly valuable time. I give you my affections. And soon, I’m going to give you a doctorate.” He pulls away and smiles, adding, “If you behave, that is.” Then he turns away to run upstairs.

Cas gapes at him and blinks several times before running after him.

When he reaches his bedroom, he asks, “What are y–”

Balthazar wraps a hand over his mouth and drags him in the room, then throws him down on the bed.

Cas bounces on the mattress and jerks Balthazar’s hand off of his mouth. “Stop it, Richard. Get out of my house,” he says with a weaker voice than he intended, mind slowing down, unable to comprehend what’s happening.

Balthazar climbs on top of him, dragging him further up the bed and crashing their mouths together.

Cas, out of habit and instinct and everything he hates about himself, kisses back.

When Balthazar breaks away to duck his head down and kiss Cas’s neck, he says quietly, “I am not above admitting my feelings for you, Castiel. I _like_ you. You know I like you. But your little antics _hurt my feelings._ ” He pulls away, taking Cas’s hand and placing it on his chest.

Cas’s heart breaks into a million pieces, physical pain erupting in his ribs when he remembers that this is exactly what Dean did, not one hour ago.

“You _hurt_ me, Castiel. I cared about you, and you hurt me. All for some moron with dimples and a calculator.”

“I…” Cas begins, a weight settling heavy over the tattered remnants of his heart. “I think you should leave. We’ll talk about this another time.”

Balthazar leans down to kiss Cas again, then forces Cas’s hand down his chest and over his crotch.

Cas tries to pull away, but Balthazar’s grip is firm on his wrist. “Please, Richard,” Cas says, voice breaking into a whisper. “Please leave. I don’t want to do this.”

When Balthazar leans down to kiss him again, Cas turns his head. “Oh, I see how it is. It’s always about _you,_ Castiel. You you you. What _you_ want. You want me, I give myself to you. I finally want you, and you play coy.”

“I’m not _playing_ anything. I just want you to…” He wrenches his hand out of Balthazar’s grip. _“…stop.”_ He tries to push Balthazar off of him, to no avail. The man is like a brick wall bearing down on him.

Balthazar takes both of Cas’s hands and yanks them upward, pinning them against the bed and holding them down with his bodyweight. He reaches down to unbutton his pants with one hand and strokes himself while shoving his tongue in Cas’s mouth.

Cas turns his head again, and growls, _“Richard._ I said _no._ Get _off of_ –”

Balthazar shoves two cum-slicked fingers down Cas’s throat, so far down that he almost chokes on them.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Balthazar removes his fingers and shoves his hand in his pants again, closing his eyes and moaning.

Tears stream out the corners of Cas’s eyes, and he has trouble catching his breath. He gasps as a sob escapes him, throat burning from the impact of the rough jab of fingers down it, and Balthazar takes his hand back out of his pants. He rubs his cum across Cas’s cheek, picking up a tear, then shoves his fingers back into Cas’s throat.

Cas gags around them, sputtering.

Balthazar ruts against his hip. Breathless, he whispers, “You know, Castiel, I did very much enjoy your research. Please understand that I do, in fact, respect you.”

Cas isn’t sure if he’s delirious, or if he really does hear the familiar creek of the front door opening.

When Balthazar takes his fingers out of Cas’s mouth again, Cas screams, _“HELP ME!”_ The words crack halfway through, forming another sob, and he’s certain that he’s gone delirious when he hears footsteps rushing up the stairs.

 _“You ungrateful little shit,”_ Balthazar hisses between clenched teeth, sitting upright, lifting his hand and bringing it down across Cas’s face, backhanding him, his ring cutting his cheek open.

Cas’s head slams back against the mattress with the impact, and his vision goes blurry, ears ringing as his jaw loosens, groaning in pain.

When his bedroom door flies open, he manages a small, slurred, _“Please,”_ toward the shadow standing in the doorway, then a strong arm wraps around Balthazar’s midsection and lifts him off of Cas completely, flinging him into a wall with a loud crash.

Warm, rough, callused hands are on Cas’s face and body in an instant, patting him all over, and beautiful, bright green eyes are in his vision, eyebrows above them knit together as he frantically searches Cas’s face. “Cas, are you okay? Talk to me, Cas.”

Cas must be hallucinating. His mind must have fled the scene, escaped in a way his body couldn’t, imagining his very own knight in shining armor whom he doesn’t even deserve, saving him from this fresh hell. “Dean,” he whispers, bringing a hand up to comb through Dean’s hair.

“Answer me, Cas. Are you okay? Do you need to go to a hospital?”

Cas smiles and shakes his head, patting Dean’s hair. “You’re so beautiful, Dean.”

A corner of Dean’s lips twitch up for a moment before he’s abruptly yanked away.

***

Dean gets thrown into a wall by a surprisingly strong Balthazar, and he hits the back of his head against it. Shaking away his disorientation, he pushes at Balthazar’s chest, and yells, “Stay the _fuck_ away from Cas!”

Balthazar raises a fist and shouts, “He’s _mine,_ you pathetic, pea-brained Neanderthal!” then brings it down toward Dean's face.

Dean ducks out of the punch, and stands back up, using the momentum to uppercut Balthazar across the jaw, knuckles busting with the force of the impact. He shouts back, “Cas is a person, you overbearing, psychotic douchebag! He doesn’t belong to anyone!”

Balthazar reels, losing his balance and tumbling to the ground.

Cas is still on the bed, dazed and hyperventilating.

Everything stills.

Dean has a decision to make.

He can keep kicking the shit out of Balthazar, which, with the amount of power the man holds over the entire university and community, would probably not only get Dean fired, but thrown in prison for assault.

Dean is itching to feel that rush again, though, to push himself to the limit and see what he’s really willing to do to this man, this monster who violated Cas and was about to do a whole lot worse. Dean wants vengeance. He wants fury. He wants blinding rage. He wants _blood._

But, as a new calm washes over him, he reminds himself that he’s not the devil anymore.

All he wants is for Cas to be okay.

As Balthazar scrambles for purchase on a bookshelf, Dean crosses the small room to the bed again, and leans over Cas.

His face is bleeding as he stares straight ahead, beyond Dean, breath shallow and rapid.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, afraid to touch him again. “Cas, it’s over now.”

From his peripheral vision, he can see Balthazar, hand on his jaw, watching them. Balthazar slowly walks toward the door, and hesitates when he reaches it. “You’ll pay for this, Winchester,” he says quietly, face cast in shadow. “You both will.”

Dean glares at him, and replies in a steady, even tone, “I’ve been to hell already, Balthazar. And I ain’t afraid to go back.”

Balthazar sneers, and turns away to leave.

Dean adds, “But you? You’ve got a lot to lose.”

Balthazar stops in his tracks and glances over his shoulder at Dean.

“Even if it takes me years,” Dean continues, “I will take away every ounce of power you have, every moment of happiness, every success and achievement. When I’m done with you, you’ll be left with nothing but a mirror, so you can destroy whatever remains of you with your own sick, twisted mind games.”

Balthazar stares at Dean for a long moment, silent, then leaves.

When Dean hears the front door close, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and lies down next to Cas on his side, not touching him.

Cas’s breath has calmed, and he continues staring straight ahead, until his stoic visage breaks and he closes his eyes, lifting a hand to cover them as he lets out a heart-wrenching whimper. He turns toward Dean and curls into his chest, shoulders wracking with the force of his sobs.

Dean wraps his arms around him and holds him tight, shushing him and rubbing circles on his back. “It’s okay, Cas. It’s over. He’s not gonna hurt you anymore.”

Cas shakes his head, and, muffled, voice wavering between deep, shaking breaths, he says, “I’m so sorry, Dean. I’m so, so sorry. It’s all my fault. I just... I just kept thinking about how you would never have never done this to me. I'm sorry. I didn’t–” His breath hitches and he’s reduced to incomprehensible muttering, wailing into Dean’s chest as he clutches Dean closer to him, pulling at him with frantic fingers as he trembles and sobs.

“It’s not your–,” Dean whispers, throat too tight to speak clearly. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and continues, voice breaking, “It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He kisses the top of Cas’s head and holds him as tightly as he can, tears falling down his face which he doesn’t dare wipe away for fear of letting Cas go for even a second.

He vows to himself that he will never let go of Cas again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Dean goes to a bar and reminisces about his old lifestyle, then he gets a bad feeling and goes to Cas's house. Meanwhile, Cas tries to break things off with Balthazar, but Balthazar is having none of it, and, finding himself suddenly powerless, assaults Cas. Dean comes in and stops it, then Balthazar leaves, and Dean soothes a shaken Castiel.
> 
> Why it makes sense for this to be here: Even Shakespeare's comedies are dark. His tragedies are downright fucked up, but depending on the director, his comedies can be too. Don John, off of whom Balthazar is based, is a man who attempts to destroy the lives of everyone in the play simply because he feels powerless. Balthazar has claimed to be straight, has toyed with Cas, controlled him and manipulated him this entire time. That's what he's attracted to: power. Highly successful people who will do anything to maintain power are generally pretty unstable, so the moment Dean gives Cas the courage to break away, yes, he absolutely snaps and attempts to get his power back, physically, because he's desperate. Beatrice, on the other hand, is powerless from the very beginning. She may have wit and intellect, she may seem strong, but she completely lacks agency (see: "Were I a man..." speech). This scene is equivalent to the first wedding scene in Much Ado. Because I only used the secondary plot, I restructured it to make more sense. In the play, the Benedick/Beatrice plot goes something like: bickering, more bickering, gossip, declaration of love, acknowledgment of love, proposal. It's all a nice, downhill slide, which makes sense when interwoven with the Claudio/Hero plot. I rearranged those basic events so make sense for their own plot, so instead of the climax occurring in the middle to create the conflict in the story, the conflict is built up and a climax occurs closer to the end.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn this was long. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed my silly little Much Ado fic! I hope I did my favorite comedy some justice. 
> 
> As always, thank you for your continued support. I absolutely adore every single one of you.

Dean upholds his two vows, but he’s wrong about one thing...

It doesn’t take years to destroy Richard Balthazar.

It only takes a week.

Dean’s first step is talking to Cas.

The morning after the assault, Dean wakes up to Castiel still huddled in his arms, breathing deeply and looking small and perfect. He slides away from Cas, who inches closer to Dean the further he pulls away, forehead wrinkled in sleepy, stubborn consternation.

Dean smiles and gently stands from the bed, then runs a hand through his hair and goes about putting Cas’s stuff back where he thinks it belongs, having knocked a great many things over the night before.

When everything is back to where he thinks it should go, he quietly leaves the room, closing the door behind him, and wanders down the stairs and into the kitchen…

Where he comes face to face with a shirtless, exhausted-looking younger brother staring blankly into the refrigerator.

Dean somehow forgot that his brother lived here too.

Sam looks up when Dean stops in the threshold, and furrows his brow in confusion. “Dean?”

Dean scratches the back of his neck. “Hey, Sammy.”

Raising an eyebrow, Sam asks, “What are you doing here?”

Dean nods, realizing how this looks, fully clothed, leaving Cas’s room at obnoxious o’clock in the morning, and decides to just go with it. “It’s pretty much exactly what it looks like.”

Sam swallows, eyebrows shooting up, and looks back in the fridge. “Okay, then,” is all he replies on the matter.

“Okay, then.”

A tense silence falls between them.

“Oh, hey, um…” Dean continues, face flushing, “Does Cas eat eggs and cheese and stuff?”

Sam grabs a protein shake from the fridge and closes the door, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, he does. And there’s coffee beans and a grinder in the pantry. He takes it with almond milk and raw sugar.”

Dean grins back, “Thanks, man.”

***

Cas comes downstairs an hour later, freshly showered and shaved. He stops at the door of the kitchen, staring at Dean, who is pouring a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Dean says, all smiles and mirth, but with a touch of hesitation in his voice. “Breakfast?”

Cas stares at the table, which has two plates on it, each covered in potatoes, omelets, and sausage. “I’m vegetarian, Dean.”

Dean puts a splash of almond milk in the coffee and some raw sugar. “I know. It’s soy.”

“Oh.” Cas hesitates in the doorway.

“Have a seat? I mean, if you want. You don’t have to.”

“Okay.” Cas sits down and stares at his food, face a mask of ashen stoicism.

Dean sits across from him and looks at him intently, asking with apprehension, “How… are you?”

Cas looks up, eyes big and glossed over. His face is still puffy from the night before, and the cut on his cheek has been covered with a band-aid. “I’m… I’m okay, I think.”

Dean gives him a small smile and nods. “Good.” He takes a bite of egg and swallows, then ventures to add, “You know, if you ever want to talk about it, we can… talk about it. Or we don’t have to. Or you can tell me to leave. Or go to hell. It’s your call.”

Cas nods, solemn, averting his gaze and picking at his food. “Thank you, Dean. I owe you my gratitude for… for everything, I guess. I don’t… I left last night to come here and break things off with Richard, once and for all. I didn’t mean for this to…” He trails off, chin trembling as he pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath.

Dean reaches out to touch him and then thinks better of it, pulling his hand back. “I know, Cas. And you don’t owe me anything.” He hesitates before continuing, “But I do think you should tell someone.”

Cas takes another deep breath and steadies his face again. He still won’t meet Dean’s eyes. “I know. I will.”

Well, Dean thinks, that was easy.

“You will?”

Finally, Cas looks up at him, eyes glinting with something Dean can’t place. “Of course I will. That man has done nothing but exploit me and use me, and last night he violated me.” At the word ‘violated,’ Cas’s voice cracks, but he clears his throat and adds, “I don’t want this happening to anyone else. Who knows how many people he’s done this to.”

“That’s… wow, that’s really brave of you, Cas. I’m glad to hear it.”

Cas looks down at his hands, and pauses for a moment. “There’s… there’s something else, though.”

Dean readies himself for whatever crazy shit Cas is about to say. “Yeah?”

“I don’t want to start over, per se, but I would like it if we, maybe… explored things. Between us. If you’d be interested in that.” He looks up at Dean, eyes wide with nervousness, and adds, “So I was wondering if you’d maybe like to go to dinner sometime.”

Considering they’re already sharing a meal, Dean’s heart flutters in his chest at Cas’s implication. He smirks, and replies, “Like a date?”

Cas’s face flushes and he looks back down, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Not ‘like a date.’ Just… a date. A real one. No pranks or tricks or anything like that. Just you and me, at a restaurant, talking. Like normal people.”

Dean’s smirk turns into a full-fledged grin as he stares at Cas with glee. “I don’t really think we’re normal people, Cas, but hey, we could try to be. For a night.”

Cas huffs a laugh, finally smiling back. “Yeah. We could try.”

***

Dean is amazed to find that when Cas sets his mind to something, that shit gets _done._ Within the following week, Cas has gone through all the right channels, speaking out against Balthazar.

Dean follows Cas around as much as he can without being a creepy stalker, finding excuses to check in on him here and there, making sure Balthazar doesn’t go anywhere near him.

Bless Stanford University for taking swift action on the matter, Dean thinks. Balthazar is immediately suspended and a thorough investigation begins. Seeing Cas this angry and hellbent on making sure Balthazar doesn’t have any access to students does painfully wonderful things to Dean’s heart. He’s proud of Cas, in awe at how brave he is after everything he’s been through.

Still, though, it’s not enough for Balthazar to lose his job, which as each day progresses is becoming more apparent.

Dean wants this fucker in prison.

So, of course, he enlists the help of Charlie.

She knocks on Dean’s open office door, looking hesitant. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, gesturing to the chairs in front of him. “Have a seat.”

Charlie sits down and waits for Dean to speak.

“Do you know who Dr. Richard Balthazar is?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, he’s the Dean of Liberal Arts," Charlie replies. "And he just got into a shit storm of trouble about raping a student.”

Dean nods. “Would you be willing to do me a favor?”

Charlie eyes him. “Only if you tell me how you and Cas are doing.”

Dean smiles at her, leaning back in his chair. “You are the nosiest student I’ve ever had.”

She smiles back. “We all have our talents.”

“Cas and I are fine. We have a…” Dean clears his throat and looks away, the tops of his cheeks turning pink. “…date. Next weekend.”

Charlie beams, eyes wide, and lets out a squeal.

Dean covers his ears. “Hey, watch it. We’re in a small room, not a goddamn amphitheater.”

“Sorry-but-not-really!” Charlie says, high-pitched and still grinning. “Where are you gonna go? What are you gonna do? What are you gonna wear? You should wear that one outfit you wore that one day, with the green that brings out your–”

“Charlie,” Dean interrupts. “It’s just a date. We’re not getting married.”

“But do you wanna get married?” Charlie asks in an excited, hushed tone.

Dean rubs the back of his neck. “Hell, I don’t know yet. We haven’t even gone on our first date– Hey, how did we get from Balthazar to this?”

“Because ‘this’ is what I’ve spent my entire semester working to set up.”

Dean rolls his eyes. He stops for a moment and takes a deep breath. “So about that favor…” He leans forward, forearms resting on his desk. “I need you to do your crazy hacker magic and pull up as much shit on Richard Balthazar that you possibly fucking can. I need this douchebag to go to prison for a long time, but I don’t want anything fabricated. I got a feeling this fucker has done some bad shit in his life, and I need to be sure he’s not gonna do any more of it.”

Charlie gapes at him. “So it’s true. Dr. Balthazar raped Professor Milton.”

Dean averts his eyes and clears his throat, trusting Charlie to figure it out for herself. Dean doesn’t know how the whole school found out about it, but he’s glad Cas isn’t hiding from it. He’s glad Cas is owning it. And he’s glad for the support the student population is showing him. It makes Dean’s chest heavy when he sees what little backlash Cas is getting about the whole thing, and he’s just so thankful that it looks like everything is going to be okay. He glances back up at Charlie, not confirming or denying anything. “So will you help?”

“Fuck yes I’ll help,” she replies with a sharp nod.

“Awesome. First, I’m gonna need you to find out about his wife.”

***

There’s a knock on Cas’s door.

“Come in,” he calls, hating himself for tensing up at the fear that it might be Balthazar.

“Hey, girl,” Alex says when he opens the door. “How you doing?”

Cas gives a small sigh of relief. “Good afternoon, Alex.”

Alex sits down, and grins.

“What?” Cas asks, shuffling through papers to find his calendar. “Did I forget our advising appointment again?”

“Nope. Again, just a friendly visit,” Alex says, giving him a mischievous smile.

Cas narrows his eyes, a feeling of _deja vu_ washing over him. “Oh?”

Alex leans forward and puts his elbows on Cas’s desk, resting his chin in his hands. “I hear you got a date coming up.”

Eyes widening, Cas’s face immediately flushes. “Who told you that?”

“Hun, never underestimate my sixth sense when it comes to my ships.”

“Ships?” Cas asks.

“Nevermind,” Alex replies with a chuckle. “I just came to see if you needed help with anything.”

Cas eyes him. “Why would I need help?”

Alex leans back, looking down at his hands, and his voice loses its lilt when he says, “’Cause I’ve been through some shit too, you know? I just want to see if you’re keeping on. I know it can be hard, afterward… you know… going on dates and all that. Feeling the things you’re supposed to feel but can’t because there’s nothing left inside you but anger.”

Having never seen Alex be serious about anything before, Cas is lost for words.

“Also,” Alex continues, sass returning as though it had never left, “you could probably use a wardrobe update.”

Cas looks down at his admittedly rumpled business casual attire. “What do you mean?”

“One word: Sears.”

Cas nods, admitting defeat. “Fair enough.” He takes a deep breath, and stares at the red pen on top of a pile of papers in front of him. “I’m… keeping on, as you say. But it’s hard. Dean is helping a lot, but I’m not sure he really understands, and I’m having trouble communicating to him that he doesn’t need to keep treating me like I’m a porcelain doll about to break. I know he’s just looking out for me, but I kind of miss the… pushing, I guess. Seeing how far either of us would go to get back at the other. It was torture, yes, but it was fun, too. Now I’m just worried he’s going to start asking me permission to breathe.”

Alex nods, “I understand that, sugar. I really do. The only thing that’s gonna heal this, though, is Dr. Time itself. Be patient, doll. You’ll both come around and the sun will shine again.” He reaches out and puts his hand over Cas’s. Smiling, he adds, “I promise.”

Cas nods and squeezes his hand in return, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“So,” Alex says, looking deviant, “what are you doing with your life? Because I’m pretty sure we need to stop everything we’re doing and go shopping _right the fuck now_.”

***

Dean is shocked at the dirt Charlie managed to dig up on Balthazar.

“He’s not even a doctor?” Dean asks, bent over Charlie's shoulder, eyes scanning the laptop in front of her.

“Nope. His degree is definitely from Columbia, but the country, not the college,” she replies, turning around to look at Dean. “I got in contact with a few of his students over the years, and they all have similar situations to what happened to Cas. He held their doctorate over them and forced them to do awful things in order to graduate. When I told them that we were trying to take him down, they were all willing to testify. They had no idea this had happened to people other than them.”

“What about his wife?”

Charlie sighs. “I met up with her a couple days ago. She’s… god, it’s heartbreaking. Her name is Anna, and she’s not all there. I mean, she’s beautiful. Big blue eyes, red hair, and when you talk to her, you get this sense that she used to be… with it. Sharp. Smart. That she used to be a cohesive person. While I was talking to her, she just held on to her cigarette and her hand never stopped trembling. Like she was afraid he was going to pop out at any moment.”

Dean rubs a hand over his face. “Why hasn’t she divorced him?”

Looking down at her hands, Charlie replies, “I asked. It’s because he owns her, I guess. She can’t work because of her mental instability. She doesn’t have any family or friends. She’s just trapped in that house.”

“Did you give her the information I gave you? For the divorce attorneys Sam knows?”

“Yeah, and I gave her the number of a pro bono therapist. I even offered to let her move into my guest bedroom. She said she’d think about it.”

Dean nods. “I guess that’s all we can do.”

“Yeah," Charlie replies with a slow nod. "I guess.”

***

Dean is obnoxiously early for his first date with Castiel, so he turns on the TV to check the news.

The first thing he sees is a close-up of “Doctor” Richard Balthazar, cuffed and being shoved into the back of a police cruiser while reporters shove microphones in his face and ask him questions.

Dean grins, and takes what feels like the first deep, full breath he’s had for a long time.

He can’t wait to tell Cas.

***

Cas stares in his drawer at his watch collection. He thinks the Sovil et Titus with the leather strap is too casual, but the Rolex with the titanium strap is too professional.

When he hears a knock on his front door, he grabs for the Titus and buckles it around his wrist while running down the stairs.

He opens the door to find a smiling Dr. Dean Winchester, face half-hidden behind a dozen roses.

Cas smiles so wide he thinks his face might crack in half, and he laughs, mouth open, completely at a loss for words.

Pushing the flowers toward Cas, Dean asks, “This is normal, right? Flowers?”

Cas takes them, holding them away from himself hesitantly. “That depends, did you do something to them? Are they going to explode or shoot water at me or anything? Catch on fire maybe?”

Dean puts a hand over his heart. “Cas, I’m hurt you would think that I’m capable of such trickery and deception.”

Cas beams at him, still completely stricken, until he realizes they’re both just staring at each other in the doorway. “Oh, sorry, you can come in.” He steps aside and gestures for Dean to enter.

“Thanks,” Dean replies, stepping through the threshold.

Given the proximity of Dean, balanced precariously at the edge of Cas’s personal bubble, hands in pockets, Cas gets the distinct impression Dean wants to hug him.

“You’re allowed to hug me, Dean. Hugs are okay.”

“Oh thank god,” Dean says in relief, and wraps Cas in his arms so quickly that Cas barely has time to move the flowers out of the way and around Dean’s back.

Cas breathes in his wonderful smell, relishes in the feel of the soft cotton of his light green dress shirt under his hands as he rubs up and down Dean’s muscular back, and rests his head on his shoulder. “I missed this,” Cas says, quiet. He’d taken the week to get his head on straight, to take down Balthazar, to work through all the darkness in his heart. He isn’t completely fixed yet, but he’s not broken, either.

For the first time in his life, he thinks he might be proud of himself.

“Me too,” Dean replies, then pulls away, holding Cas at arm’s length. “I have amazing news,” he adds, buzzing with anticipation.

“What?”

“Before I left the house, I checked the news. Balthazar got arrested today.”

 _“No,”_ Cas says, astonished. He had no idea this would happen so fast.

 _“Yes,”_ Dean replies. “He’s not gonna hurt anyone else, Cas. All because of you.”

Cas narrows his eyes. “I have the distinct impression you may have employed a redheaded hacker to speed the process along.”

“Would you be mad at me if I did?” Dean asks, smiling sheepishly.

Cas chews on that a moment. “I don’t think I would be, no. But you definitely owe me dinner on the off chance I get mad about it later.”

Grinning, Dean says, “Deal,” then gestures out the door. “Shall we?”

***

Dean takes Cas to a fancy restaurant that he’s sure goes against everything Dean stands for. He can tell because Dean has no idea how to pronounce anything on the menu, then conspiratorially asks, “Do you think they would judge me if I asked for a kid’s menu?”

“Yes, Dean. Not only would they judge you, I would judge you too. Harshly.”

“Oh, fine,” Dean says, pouting, and then lets Cas order for him when the server comes back around.

They split a single bottle of wine, which leaves Cas feeling goofy and giggly, but not drunk. Just happy.

But, he considers, that might not be the wine as much as it is listening to Dean tell him crazy stories of his youth.

They talk for hours, enrapt in each other's attention, until the restaurant starts to close up, and Dean pays their tab. He drives them back to Cas’s house and walks Cas to the door.

“This is normal too, right?” he asks Cas when they stand facing each other on Cas’s porch.

Cas looks down at his feet, face hurting from smiling so much throughout the evening. “Yes, Dean, I believe this is also normal.”

When he looks up, Dean is staring at him. His eyebrows are knit and his eyes are wide. His lips are slightly parted as though he wants to say or do something but can’t.

Cas has been told his entire life he has trouble reading people, but he has a pretty good idea of what Dean wants, and it’s what Cas wants too, and he thinks he might love Dean with all his heart for his ability to be patient when he needs to be.

“You want to kiss me now, right?” Cas asks, smirking.

Dean gives a small, shy nod, which is so far out of the realm anything Cas would ever expect him to do that it makes his heart twist in his chest, wriggling around in love and excitement.

Cas takes a step closer to him, and Dean’s eyes cross to continue focusing on him. He swallows visibly, and asks, “That’s normal too, right? Kissing at the end of a date?”

Shrugging, Cas replies, “That depends. No tricks?”

Dean shakes his head. “No tricks.”

Cas crowds his space even closer until he can feel Dean’s body heat on his own. “And you want to, right?”

“I do, yeah,” Dean says, voice barely above a whisper.

Cas leans in and, lips hesitating in front of Dean’s, eyes not breaking from his gaze, whispers, “Then what’s stopping you?”

Dean closes the gap between them and presses their lips together, and it feels like years since they’ve done this. It feels like they’ve fought their way through hell and back to get to this point, where they’re finally both finally free to express themselves, their real selves, to each other; no games or pranks or power-crazed psychopaths on their minds.

When Dean hovers his hands around Cas without touching him, Cas pulls him by the wrists and places Dean’s hands on his hips.

He pulls away, breathless, and says, “Dean, I give you permission to touch me. Anywhere you’d like. I’m not going to break and you’re not going to trigger me.”

“Are you sure?” Dean asks, pulling away further. “I just don’t want to make it seem like I’m…”

“You’re not, Dean,” Cas replies. “You’re not anything like him.”

Dean pulls Cas against his chest and kisses him again, this time without hesitation, without apprehension, like on the quad after the water balloon fight. Something snaps in his mind and he’s in full-on _want_ mode, which drives Cas a little crazy with want himself.

Cas reaches over and fumbles with the door, eventually shoving it open while they stumble inside, not daring to break away from one another.

Dean nips at Cas’s lower lip and moans into his mouth, unleashing that youthful devil that he tries so hard to hide from the world, but Cas knows it’s there, and he loves Dean for it. He loves that Dean knows how to control it, and when to let it out.

“You want me?” Cas growls in his ear, pressing kisses and bites down Dean’s neck.

Dean gasps out a, _“God, yes,”_ and Cas unbuttons Dean's shirt with swift hands, shoving it off of his shoulders, and feeling his warm, muscular chest under his palms. He reaches down to unbuckle Dean’s belt, but Dean pulls away and asks, “Shouldn’t we go to your room?”

There’s an unsaid answer hanging in the air, so Dean continues, “What about Sam?”

Cas shrugs, and proceeds undoing the button and fly on Dean’s pants. “He lived with you for most of his life, Dean. I guarantee he’s seen worse.”

“Fair enough,” Dean says while Cas shoves his pants to the ground, and there’s a shuffle of pulling feet out of shoes and tossing the pants to the side before Cas yanks Dean by his hips over to the couch, and pushes him down on top of it, straddling his legs.

“Why am I naked and you’re not?” Dean asks between frantic kisses.

“Because I want you naked,” Cas replies, shoving his hand between them and fisting Dean’s dick in his hand, already hard, feeling like silk over steel and heavy in his palm while he jerks it, loose and slow.

Dean whimpers at his touch, and runs his hands up to Cas’s hair to pull him down for another kiss, panting against his mouth.

Cas pulls away and steps off of the couch to sink down to his knees on the floor, resting between Dean’s legs.

Dean looks at him, face flushed, unabashed lust etched on his features when he says, “Cas, you don’t have to–”

Cas interrupts him by taking the head of his cock, swollen and red and leaking already, into his mouth.

_“–fuck.”_

Hand against the back of Cas’s head, resting there and not pushing, Dean stutters his hips instinctively.

Cas pushes him back down on the couch, circling his tongue around the head of Dean’s cock, then sliding up and down the vein on the underside of it, and pulling him in completely, until his dick is at the back of his throat, lips touching the base of it.

Dean chokes on moan and gasps for breath, squirming under Cas’s hands. _“Fuck,_ Cas, for a history nerd, you’ve got the filthiest fucking mouth I’ve ever seen.”

Cas moans around Dean’s cock, which makes Dean’s hips twitch up again, and Cas pulls off, commanding, “Keep talking,” before sliding back down his length.

“Jesus, baby, those lips are gonna make me come before I even get a chance to fuck you open.” Dean tugs a little at Cas’s hair, which makes Cas groan and melt into Dean’s touch. He reaches up and fondles his balls, which elicits a loud, guttural groan from Dean, who writhes impulsively underneath him.

“I’ve wanted those fucking lips around my cock since the moment I laid eyes on you, Cas. Perfect pink little mouth, always spewing the most– _oh my god_ – clever words. God _damn_ , Cas, that brain of yours is like a fucking masterpiece. And I can’t even get started on that perky, round ass– _Jesus Christ_ I’m gonna come if you keep up with that.”

Dean drags Cas up by the shirt and pulls him in for another kiss.

Cas pushes him away and stands up straight, unbuttoning his shirt and slowly getting undressed while Dean gazes at him.

Dean jerks himself while watching Cas pull his shirt off and toeing off his shoes, lip between his teeth and raking Cas over with his eyes.

Cas takes off his pants and socks, cock bobbing, and Dean gives a quiet moan when he sees it, gripping his own thigh while he waits for Cas to climb back on top of him.

When Cas straddles him again, it’s blissful skin on skin, and Dean wraps his strong arms around Cas, burying him in fervent kisses, trailing down his chest and wrapping his lips around a nipple, licking and sucking and biting at it until Cas gasps and ruts against his stomach.

Dean squeezes his ass and runs his hands all over Cas’s body, taking in every inch of him, and Cas has never felt more adored and wanted in his life.

“Hold on,” Dean mumbles, and stands up from the couch, picking up Cas with him, and Cas wraps his legs around Dean’s waist, shocked that Dean can so easily lift a one-hundred fifty pound man like he’s as light as air.

Dean brings him back down gently on the couch so that Cas is lying on his back and Dean is between is legs, running a hand up his side and kissing him like there’s nothing else in the world but the two of them. He pulls at Cas’s cock with rough, nimble hands.

Cas reaches down and grabs his pants from the floor, pulling out a pack of lube and a condom from his pocket and shoving it in Dean’s other hand. Panting, he says, _“Please_ just fuck me already, Dean. I think I’ve waited long enough.”

Dean huffs a laugh into Cas’s neck. “So impatient, Cas.”

“We have the rest of our lives to have slow sex, but I want you inside me _right fucking now_ …” Cas hisses when Dean bites down on his neck, and adds, _“…Dr. Winchester.”_

Dean freezes above him and grabs the base of his own cock, breathing shallow, strained breaths, forehead resting on Cas’s shoulder.

Cas laughs. “Oh, is _that_ what it’ll take to get you to finally fuck me?” He puts his lips next to Dean’s ear, grazing it, and whispers, “I’ve been a _bad_ student, Dr. Winchester.”

Dean balls the hand holding the lube and condom into a fist, knuckles turning white as his hips stutter of their own accord, erratic as he breathes through his teeth.

Cas prods on, “Too soon?” Then he lowers his voice, and adds, “I think you should teach me a lesson.”

Dean sits upright and rips open the packet of lube, squeezing some on his fingers before tossing it on the coffee table and shoving Cas’s knees up to his chest.

There’s a fierce glint in his eye as he reaches down to circle Cas’s entrance with slicked fingers, prodding one in slowly, making Cas’s eyes flutter closed.

As soon as Dean gets to the second knuckle, Cas is already begging, “Second one. Please, Dr. Winchester. _Please.”_

Dean leans down to bite Cas’s inner thigh, a muffled groan escaping his lips as he presses in a second finger and hooks them both upward, grazing Cas’s prostate.

Cas lets out a cry.

Huffing a laugh into Cas’s thigh, Dean mumbles, “Finally, something to stop that dirty mouth of yours. Gonna be the death of me.”

Cas, mentally obliterated by Dean’s deft fingers, can only pant toward the ceiling while Dean opens him wide. Once he relaxes around Dean’s fingers, he pleads, “Another.”

“Already? God, Cas, you’re killing me.” Dean presses in a third finger and hooks them upward again.

Cas chokes on the wail that escapes him, eyes squeezing shut as he says, “Ready… please, please, _please_ fuck me. I need it. I need you inside me.”

Dean reaches over to the coffee table and picks up the condom, ripping it open and rolling it over himself. He pulls Cas’s knees up again, spreading him wide, and lines his dick up to Cas's his hole, pressing in slowly.

Cas hasn’t felt this full in a long time, and he doesn’t remember ever wanting it as bad as he wants it right now. “More,” he pants.

Dean pushes in further, stuttering his hips slowly in and out while the tight ring of muscle relaxes around his cock. “God, Cas, everything about you is so fucking perfect. Your ass feels so goddamn good. _Fuck,”_ he says as he finally bottoms out in one smooth slide.

Cas loves the burn. He loves feeling complete, Dean’s rock hard dick all the way inside him, opening him wide.

 _“Move,”_ he whispers, and Dean pulls out a bit, then slams back in, forcing a loud moan from Cas. He pulls in and out again and again, picking up the speed and force of his thrusts.

Cas clenches his legs around Dean’s waist, holding onto him for dear life as he fucks into him, hard and fast and deep.

They’re both lost for words, for once, breathing into each others mouths between quick, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. Cas clutches at Dean’s hair and claws up and down his back. He trails his hands down and squeezes Dean’s ass, shoving him in harder and deeper and faster.

Dean reaches between them and grabs Cas’s cock, pumping it in time with his thrusts, thumbing over the head and spreading cum up and down the shaft, palm slick with it.

Cas feels Dean tense up above him, body hot and sweaty and sliding against his own, straining to keep an even pace but shuddering erratically in and out of him.

He twists his fist in just the right way around Cas’s cock over and over, then he changes the angle of his hips so that he’s ramming right into Cas’s prostate, and Cas screams, fireworks erupting behind his eyes, the edges of his vision blurring as he barely catches his own breath.

The fiery coil in the pit of his stomach tightens. Dean makes him hover right over the precipice for an agonizingly long time, slowing his thrusts and stroking Cas evenly, letting the tension build and build and build, then finally, Dean fucks right onto his sweet spot again at the exact same time he twists his fist over the head of Cas’s cock, and Cas comes with a shout, white hot streaks coating his stomach and chest.

His ass clenches in waves around Dean’s cock and Dean fucks into him fast and hard and dirty, tension finally breaking when he comes inside Cas with a cry, riding out the waves of his orgasm with small rolls of his hips into Cas, grinding into his ass until he slows to a halt at last, then collapsing on top of him.

They lie there, breathing heavily, until Dean slides to the side, off of Cas, and rests his head on his chest.

Cas wraps one arm around Dean while he reaches over to the side of the couch and picks up his shirt, then wipes all the cum off of himself and Dean’s hand.

Dean holds Cas tight to himself, and Cas wraps his other arm around him, lowering himself so that they’re facing each other on the small couch, limbs entangled in one another and foreheads pressed together.

Cas leans in and gives Dean a small kiss on the lips, staring into him.

Reaching up, Dean cards his fingers through Cas’s hair and smiles, bright green eyes and perfect teeth crowding Cas’s entire visual field, Cas’s entire world.

Dean thumbs over the cut on his cheek gently, and whispers, _“I do love nothing in the world so well as you.”_ Smirking, he adds, _“Is not that strange?”_

Cas laughs and replies, overdramatic,  _“As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as you; but believe me not, and yet I lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing.”_

Grin spreading across his face, Dean says, _“By my sword, Castiel, thou lovest me.”_

Cas’s heart flutters pitifully in his chest when he replies with fake spite,  _“Do not swear by it, and eat it.”_

_“I will swear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it that says I love not you.”_

Cas giggles, suddenly giddy. _“Will you not eat your word?”_

 _“With no sauce that can be devised to it.”_ Dean leans in and kisses Cas, sweet and chaste, then pulls away, smile dropping as he searches Cas’s face. Barely above a whisper, he continues, looking back and forth between Cas's eyes,  _“I protest, I love thee.”_

Cas’s smile drops too, and he replies, _“You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to protest I loved you.”_

 _“And do it with all thy heart,”_ Dean says with a small shake of his head.

Heart bursting with a brand new level of affection and adoration, Cas whispers, _“I love you with so much of my heart that there is none left to protest.”_

Dean wraps his arms around Castiel and pulls him in for a deep kiss, slow and languid and perfect, and Cas realizes that it has been hours since he last thought about his dissertation, or the burden of his future, or Balthazar, or anything but the intense, undying love he holds for Dr. Dean Winchester.


End file.
